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AND COUNTRY LIBRARY 


SHED SEMI-MONTHLY August i, 1890 $10.00 PER ANNUM 

iiiiM:;!Mili«i!lMii>«'!!»iiH»m.ifniB r ^'l'■lh■ ■■ ■ .^l■lll■ill■lll■^l,^■■.|M^'■■^■.|g .l■lli^llnil^^l^ .i^iimiiiilin<niliiiwi m a 


Geoffrey 

Hampstead 


A Novel 

By THOMAS S. JARVIS 



ENTERED AT THE POST-OFFICE AT NEW YORK AS SECOND-CLASS MAIL MATTER 

D. APPLETON & CO., NEW YORK 


Beweet ^fiction 


No. 55, Town and Country Library. 

THEOCKMOETO]ST 

By molly ELLIOT l^EAWELL. 

12mo, paper cover, price, 50 cents. Specially bound in cloth, 
piice, $1.00. 

A NEW AMERICAN NOVEL, 

presenting? u strong study of contrasting characters, by an antlior inti 
inately acquainted with her scene and background — the Virginia of tl) 
years immediately following the war. 


The COMMERCIAL ADVERTISER says: 

“The plot of the story is excellent — full of quick turns and sui 
pri.ses. . . . The way in which dudith falls in love with the hen 
notwithstanding the uncanny barrier that lies between tlie two. an 
the way that barrier disintegrates and fades away, in the end, i 
well worked out. and in a fashion to charm all who believe that tl 
course of true love ought, at least, to run smooth.*' 

The SPRINGFIELD REPUBLICAN says: 

“Taken as a whole, it is an entertaining picture of Souther 
family life, and as such recommends itself to lovers of romance, an 
an excellent addition to Appleton.‘^’ Town and Country Library.* 

The BOSTON TIMES says: 

“Molly Elliot Seawell has written in ‘Throckmorton’ a nov 
that is strong in motive and equally strong in concejition and coi 
struction. The authors style is charmingly easy, and the story 
altogether delightful.’* 


New York: T). APPLETON & CO., Publishers, 1. 3, & 5 Bond St. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD 


A NOVEL 


BY 






Thomas') STINSON jarvis 

ii 



Consider the work of God : for who can make 
that straight, which he hath made crooked ? 

Ecclesiastes vii, 13. 





NEW YORK 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

1890 





Copyright, 1890, 

By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 




• t' ' • 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


' CHAPTER I. 

I do not think 
So fair an outward, ai^ such Stuff within, 

Endows a man but he. 

Cymbeline. 

The Victoria Bank, Toronto, is on the corner of Bay 
and Front Streets, where it overlooks a part of the harbor 
large enough to gladden the eyes of the bank-clerks who 
are aquatic in their habits and have time to look out of 
the windows. Young gentlemen in tattered and ink- 
stained coats, but irreproachable in the matter of trousers 
and linen, had been known to gaze longingly and wearily 
down toward that strip of shining water when hard fate 
in the shape of bank duty apparently remained indifferent 
to the fact that an interesting race was being rowed or 
sailed. This, sometimes, was rather a bad thing for the 
race ; for the Victoria Bank had, immured within its cut 
stone and plate glass, some good specimens of muscular 
gentility; and in contests of different kinds, the V. B. 
had a way (discomforting to other banks) of producing 
winners. The amount of muscle some of them could 
apply to a main-sheet was creditable, while, as to rowing, 
there were few who did not cultivate a back and thigh 
action which, if not productive of so much speed as 
Hanlan’s, was certainly, to the uninitiated, quite as pleas- 


4 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


ant to look upon ; so that, in sports generally, there was 
a decided call for the Vies. ; not only among men on 
account of their skill, but also in the ranks of a gentler 
community whose interest in a contest seemed to be more 
personal than sporting. The Vies, had adopted as their 
own a particular color, of which they would wear at least 
a small spot on any “ big day ” ; and, when they were con- 
testing, this color would be prevalent in gatherings of those 
interested personally. And who would inquire the reasons 
for this favoritism ? “ Reasons ! explanations ! — why are 

men so curious ? Is it not enough that those most com- 
petent to decide have decided ? What will you ? Go 
to ! ” Indeed, the sex is very divine. It is a large part 
of their divinity to be obscure. 

Perhaps these young men danced with the ease and 
self-satisfaction of dervishes. Perhaps their prowess was 
unconsciously admired by those who formerly required 
defenders. But the most compelling reason, on this im- 
portant point, was that ours ” of the Victoria Bank had 
established themselves socially as ‘‘ quite the right sort ” 
and “good form” — and thus desirable to the Toronto 
maiden, and, if not so much so to her more match-making 
mother, the fact that they were considered chic pro- 
vided a feminine argument in their favor which had, as 
usual, the advantage of being, from its vagueness, difficult 
to answer ; so that the more mercantile mother grew to 
consider that a “ detrimental ” who was chic was not, after 
all, as bad as a “det.” without leaven. 

It has been said that bank-clerks are all the same ; but, 
while admitting that, in regard to their faultless trousers 
and immaculate linen, there does exist a pleasing general 
resemblance, rather military, it must be insisted that there 
are different sorts of them; that they are complete in 
their way, and need not be idealized. The old barbaric 
love for wonderful story-telling is still the harvest-ground 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 5 

of those who live by the propagation of ideas, but must 
we always demand the unreal ? 

There was nothing unreal about Jack Cresswell. As he 
stood poring over columns of figures in a great book, one 
glance at him was sufficient to dispel all hope of mystery. 
He was inclosed in the usual box or stall — quite large 
enough for him to stand up in, which was all he required 
(sitting ruins trousers) — and his office coat was all a bank- 
clerk could desire. The right armpit had “carried away,” 
and the left arm was merely attached to the body by a few 
ligaments — reminding one of railway accidents. The right 
side of the front and the left arm had been used for years 
as a pen-wiper. A metallic clasp for a patent pencil was 
clinched through the left breast. The holes for the pock- 
ets might be traced with care even at this epoch, but 
they had become so merged in surrounding tears as to 
almost lose identity with the original design. 

The bank doors had been closed for some time, after 
three o’clock, on this particular day in the year of our 
Lord one thousand eight hundred and blank, and Jack 
Cresswell had been puzzling his brains over figures with 
but poor success. Whether his head was dull, or whether 
it was occupied by other things, it is hard to say proba- 
bly both ; so, on hearing Geoffrey Hampstead, the paying- 
teller, getting ready to go away, he leaned over the parti- 
tion and said, in an aggrieved tone : 

“ Look here, Geoffrey, I’m three cents out in my bal- 
ance.” 

A strong, well-toned voice answered carelessly, “ That 
is becoming a pretty old story with you. Jack. You re 
always out. However, make yourself comfortable, dear 
boy, as you will doubtless be at it a good while.” Then, 
as he put on his hat and sauntered away, Geoffrey added 
a little more comfort. “ If you really intend to bring it 
out right, you had better arrange to guard the bank to- 


6 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


night. You can do both at once, you know, and get your 
pay as well, while you work on comfortably till morning.’* 

“ I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If you’ll get these three 
cents right for me, I’ll stand the dinners.” 

“ Much obliged. Mr. Hampstead has the pleasure of 
regretting. Prior engagement. Has asked Mr. Maurice 
Rankin to dine with him at the club. But perhaps, even 
without your handsome reward, we might get these figures 
straightened out for you.” Then, taking off his coat, 
“ You had better take a bite with us if we can finish this 
in time.” 

Geoffrey came up to the books and “ took hold,” while 
Jack, now in re-established good humor, amused himself 
by keeping up a running fire of comments. “Aha! me 
noble lord condescends to dine the poor legal scribe. I 
wonder, now, what led you to ask Maurice Rankin to dine 
with you. You can’t make anything out of Morry. He 
hasn’t got a cent in the world, unless he got that police- 
court case. Not a red shekel has he, and me noble lord 
asks him to dinner — which is the humor of it ! Now, I 
would like to know what you want with Rankin. You 
know you never do anything without some motive. You 
see I know you pretty well. Gad ! I do.” 

Geoffrey was working away under this harangue, with 
one ear open, like a telegraph operator, for Jack’s re- 
marks. He said : “ Can not a fellow do a decent thing 
once in a way without hearing from you ? ” 

“Not you,” cried Jack, “not you. I’ll never believe 
you ever did a decent thing in your life without some 
underground motive.” 

Geoffrey smiled over the books, where he was adding 
three columns of figures at once, lost the addition, and 
had to begin at the bottom again; and Jack, who thought 
that never man breathed like Geoffrey, looked a little 
fondly and very admiringly at the way his friend’s back 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


7 

towered up from the waist to the massive shoulders — and 
smiled too. 

Jack’s smile was expansive and contagious. It lighted 
up the whole man — some said the whole room — but never 
more brightly than when with Hampstead. Geoffrey had a 
fascination for him, and his admiration had reached such 
a climax after nearly two years’ intercourse that he now 
thought there was but little within the reach of man that 
Geoffrey could not accomplish if he wished. It was not 
merely that he was good looking and had an easy way 
with him and was in a general way a favorite — not merely 
that he seemed to make more of Jack than of others. Hamp- 
stead had a power of some kind about him that harnessed 
others besides Jack to his chariot-wheels ; and, much as 
Cresswell liked to exhibit Geoffrey’s seamy side to him 
when he thought he discovered flaws, he nevertheless had 
admitted to an outsider that the reason he liked Hampstead 
was that he was “ such an altogether solid man — solid in 
his sports, solid in- his work, solid in his virtues, and, as 
to the other way — well, enough said.” But the chief 
reason lay in the great mental and bodily vigor that nearly 
always emanated from Geoffrey, casting its spell, more or 
less effectively, for good or evil. With most people it was 
impossible to ignore his presence ; and his figure was pre- 
possessing from the extraordinary power, grace, and capa- 
city for speed which his every movement interpreted. 

It was his face that bothered observant loungers in the 
clubs. For statuary, a sculptor could utilize it to repre- 
sent the face of an angel or a devil with equal facility — 
but no second-class devil or angel. Its permanent ex- 
pression was that which a man exhibits when exercising 
his will-power. The tenacious long jaw had a squareness 
underneath it that seemed to be in keeping with the length 
of the upper lip. The high, long nose made its usual sug- 
gestions, two furrows between the thick eyebrows could 


8 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


ordinarily be seen, and the protuberant bumps over the 
eyes gave additional strength. The eyes were light blue 
or steel gray, according to the lights or the humor he was 
in. An intellectual forehead, beveled off under the low- 
growing hair, might suggest that the higher moral aspira- 
tions would not so frequently call for the assistance of the 
determination depicted in the face as would the other 
qualities shown in the width and weight of head behind the 
ears. 

But Jack did not believe what he said in his tirades, 
and his good-will makes him lax in condemnation of things 
which in others he would have denounced. What Geof- 
frey said or did, so far as Jack knew, met, at his hands, 
with an easy indifference if culpable, and a kindling ad- 
miration if apparently virtuous. The two had lived to- 
gether for a long time, and no one knew better than 
Geoffrey how trustworthy Jack was. Consequently, he 
sometimes entered into little confidences concerning his 
experiences, which he glossed over with a certain amount 
of excuse, so that the moral laxity in them did not 
fully appear; and what with the intensity of his speech, 
his word painting, and enthusiastic face, a greater stoic 
than poor Jack might have caught the fire, and perhaps 
condoned the offense. 

Jack thought he knew Hampstead pretty well. 

On the other side, Hampstead, though keen at dis- 
cerning character, confessed to himself that Jack was the 
only person he could say he knew. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


9 


CHAPTER II. 

This fellow might he in’s time a great buyer of land, with his statutes, 
his fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries.— 

As Jack expected, it did not take long for his friend 
Hampstead to show where the mistake about the three 
cents lay ; and then they sallied forth for a little stroll on 
King Street before dinner. 

They lived in adjoining chambers in the Tremaine 
Buildings on King Street. The rooms had been intended 
for law offices, and were reached by a broad flight of 
stairs leading up from the street below. Here they were 
within five minutes’ walk of their bank or the club at 
which they generally took their meals. Hampstead had 
first taken these rooms because they were in a manner so 
isolated in the throng of the city and afforded an uncon- 
trolled liberty of ingress and egress to young men whose 
hours for retiring to rest were governed by no hard and 
fast rules. 

A widow named Priest lived somewhere about the top 
of the building, with her son, who was known to the young 
gentlemen as Patsey. Mrs. Priest made the beds, did the 
washing, attended to the fires, and was generally useful. She 
also cleaned offices, even to the uttermost parts of the great 
building, and altogether made a good thing of it ; for be- 
sides the remunerations derived in these ways she had her 
perquisites. For instance, in the ten years of her careful 
guardianship of chambers and offices in the building, she 
had never bought any coal or wood. She possessed dupli- 
cate keys for each room in her charge, and thus having a 
large number of places to pillage she levied on them all, 
according to the amount of fuel she could safely carry away 
from each place without its being missed. Young men 


10 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


who occupied chambers there never had to give away or 
sell old clothes, because they were never found to be in 
the way. She asked for them when she wanted to cut 
them down for Patsey, because it would not do to have 
the owners recognize the cloth on him. The clothes 
which she annexed as perquisites she sold. 

Patsey was accustomed occasionally to go through the 
wardrobes of the gentlemen with his mother, while she 
made the beds in the morning, and he then chose the gar- 
ments that most appealed to his artistic taste. This in- 
teresting heir to Mrs. Priest’s personal estate also had his 
perquisites “ unbeknownst to ma.” He consumed a sur- 
prising amount of tobacco for one so young, and might 
frequently be seen parading King Street on a summer 
evening enjoying a cigar altogether beyond his years and 
income. His clothes bore the pattern of the fashion in 
vogue three or four years back ; and, despite some changes 
brought about by the scissors of Mrs. Priest, the material, 
which had been the best Toronto could provide, still re- 
tained much of the glory that had captivated King Street 
not so very long ago. Having finally declared war against 
education in all its recognized branches, he generally 
took himself off early in the day, and lounged about the 
docks, or derived an indifferently good revenue from the 
sale of ferry-boat tickets to the island ; and in various other 
ways did Patsey provide himself with the luxuries and en- 
joyments of a regular topsawyer. 

In the immediate neighborhood of Mrs. Priest, at an 
altitude in the building which has never been exactly as- 
certained, dwelt Mr. Maurice Rankin, barrister-at-law and 
solicitor of the Supreme Court. He resided in Chambers, 
No. 173 Tremaine Buildings, King Street, West, Toronto, 
and certainly all this looked very legal and satisfactory 
on the professional card which he had had printed. But 
the interior appearance of the chambers was not calculated 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


I 


to inspire confidence in the profession of the law as a 
kind nurse for aspiring merit ; and as for the approach to 
No. 173, it was so intricate and dark in its last few flights 
of stairs, that none but a practiced foot could venture up 
or down without a light, even in the daytime. The room 
occupied by Mr. Rankin could never have been intended 
to be used as an office, or perhaps anything else, and con- 
sequently the numbers of the rooms in the buildings had 
not been carried up to the extraordinary elevation in 
which No. 173 might now be found. Still, it seemed pe- 
culiar not to have the number of one’s chambers on one’s 
card, if chambers should be mentioned thereon, so he 
found that the rooms numbered below ended at 172, and 
then conscientiously marked “No. 173” on his own 
door with a piece of white chalk. He also carefully 
printed his name, “ Mr, Maurice Rankin,” on the cross- 
panel and added the letters “ Q. C.” — just to see how the 
whole thing looked and assist ambition ; but he hurriedly 
rubbed the Q, C. out on hearing Mrs. Priest approach for 
one of her interminable conversations from which there 
was seldom any escape. When Rankin first came to Tre- 
maine Buildings he lived in one of the lower rooms, now 
occupied by Jack Cresswell, and not without some style 
and comfort — taking his meals at the club, as our friends 
now did. His father, who had been a well-known broker, 
— a widower — kept his horses, and brought up his son in 
luxury. He then failed, after Maurice had entered the 
Toronto University, and, unable to endure the break-up 
of the results of his life’s hard work, he died, leaving 
Maurice a few hundred dollars that came to him out of 
the life-insurance. 

It was with a view to economy that our legal friend 
came to live in the Tremaine Buildings after leaving the 
university and articling himself as a clerk in one of the 
leading law firms in the city, where he got paid nothing. 


12 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


The more his little capital dwindled, the harder he worked. 
Soon the first set of chambers were relinquished for a 
higher, cheaper room, and the meals were taken per 
contract, by the week, at a cheap hotel. Then he had to 
get some clothes, which further reduced the little fund. 
So he took “ a day’s march nearer home,” as he called it, 
and removed his effects au quatrilme ^tage, and from that 
au cinquihne — and so on and up. Regular meals at hotels 
now belonged to the past. A second-hand coal-oil stove 
was purchased, together with a few cheap plates and arti- 
cles of cutlery ; and here Rankin retired, when hungry, 
with a bit of steak rolled up in rather unpleasant brown 
paper ; and, after producing part of a loaf and a slab of 
butter on a plate, he cooked a trifle of steak about the 
size of a flat-iron, and caroused. This he called the feast 
of independence and the reward of merit. 

Among his possessions could be found a wooden bed 
and bedding — clean, but not springy — also a small deal ta- 
ble, and an old bureau with both hind-legs gone. But the 
bureau stood up bravely when propped against the wall. 
These were souvenirs of a transaction with a second-hand 
dealer. In winter he set up an old coal-stove which had 
been abandoned in an empty room in the building, and this 
proved of vast service, inasmuch as the beef-steak and tea 
could be heated in the stove, thereby saving the price of 
coal-oil. It will occur to the eagle-eyed reader that the 
price of coal would more than exceed the price of coal-oil. 
On this point Rankin did not converse. Although he 
started out with as high principles of honor as the son of a 
stock-broker is expected to have, it must be confessed 
that he did not at this time buy his coal. Therefore there 
was a palpable economy in the use of the derelict stove — 
to say nothing of its necessary warmth. No mention of 
coal was ever made between Rankin and Mrs. Priest ; 
but as Maurice rose in the world, intellectually and resi- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


13 


dentially, Mrs. Priest saw that his monetary condition was 
depressed in an inverse ratio, and being in many ways a 
well-intentioned woman, she commenced bringing a pail of 
coal to his room every morning, which generally served to 
keep the fire alight for twenty-four hours in moderate 
weather. Maurice at first salved his conscience with the 
idea that she was returning the coal she had “ borrowed 
from him during his more palmy days. After the first win- 
ter, however, when he had suffered a good deal from cold, 
his conscience became more elastic and communistic ; 
and ten o’clock p. m. generally saw him performing a soli- 
tary and gloomy journey to unknown regions with a coal- 
scuttle in one hand and a wooden pail in the other. Jack 
Cresswell had come across this coal-scuttle one night in a 
distant corridor. He filled it with somebody else’s coal 
and came up with it to Rankin’s room — his face beaming 
with enjoyment — and, entering oh tip-toe, whispered mys- 
teriously the word pickings.” Then, after walking around 
the room in the stealthy manner of the stage villain who 
inspects the premises before “ removing ” the infant heir, 
he dumped the scuttle on the floor and gasped, breath- 
lessly, “ A gift ! ” 

Rankin put aside Byles on Bills and arose with dignity : 
“ What say you, henchman ? Pickings ? A gift ? Ay, 
truly, a goodly pickings ! Filched, perchance, from the 
pursy coal-bins of monopoly ? ” 

Even so,” was the reply, given with bated breath ; 
and with his finger to his lips, to imply that he was on a 
criminal adventure. Jack again inspected the premises 
with much stealth and agility, and disappeared as myste- 
riously as he had come. If Jack or Geoffrey ever saw 
anything lying about the premises they thought would be 
of use to Rankin, there was a nocturnal steal, and up it 
went to Rankin’s room. This was sport. 

In this way Rankin lived. With one idea set before 


14 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


him, he grappled with the leather-covered books that came 
by ones and twos into his room, until, when the great 
struggle came at his final examinations, he was surprised 
to find he had come out so well, and quite charmed when 
he returned from Osgoode Hall to his dreary room, a so- 
licitor of the Supreme Court and a barrister-at-law, with 
a light heart, and not a single solitary cent in the wide 
world. 


CHAPTER HI. 

Frien'ship maks us a’ mair happy, 

Frien’ship gies us a’ delight ; 

Frien’ship consecrates the drappie, 

Frien’ship brings us here to-night. 

Robert Burns. 

At the opening of this story, about six months had 
elapsed since Rankin had been licensed to prey upon the 
public, and as yet he had not despoiled it to any great ex- 
tent. If he had kept body and soul together, it was done 
in ways that are not enticing to young gentlemen who 
dream of attacking the law single-handed. 

An old lawyer named Bean had an office in the lower 
part of Tremaine Buildings, and Maurice arranged with 
him to occupy one of the ancient desks in his office, and, 
in consideration of answering all questions as to the where- 
abouts of Mr. Bean, the privilege of office-room was given 
to him rent-free. As Mr. Bean had no clients, and as Ran- 
kin never knew where he was, this duty was a light one. 
He also had from Mr. Bean the privilege of putting his 
name up on the door, and, of course, as frequently and as 
alluringly along the passage and on the stairs as he might 
think desirable. But it was set out very clearly in the 
agreement, which Rankin carefully drew up and Bean pre- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


15 


tended to revise, that Mr. Rankin should not in any way 
interfere with the clients of Mr. Bean, and that Mr. Bean 
should not in any way interfere with the clients of the 
aforesaid Rankin. 

Bean had a little money, which he seemed to spend ex- 
clusively in the consumption of mixed drinks ; and what- 
ever else he did during the day, besides expending his in- 
come in this way, certainly engrossed his attention to a 
very large extent. When he looked into the office daily, 
or, say, bi-weekly, it was only for a few moments — except 
when he fell asleep in his chair. 

It was after he had been five or six months with Mr. 
Bean that Geoffrey Hampstead had asked Rankin to din- 
ner. He locked up the office about five o’clock, having 
closed the dampers in the stove (Bean supplied the coal — 
a great relief) and putting the key in his pocket, he ascend- 
ed to No. 173 for a while, and then he came down to Hamp- 
stead’s chambers, where he found our two bank friends 
taking a glass of sherry and bitters to give their appetites 
a tone, which was a very unnecessary proceeding. 

Hello, old man ! How are you ? ” cried Hampstead 
in a hearty voice, handing him a wine glass. 

“ Ah ! How am I ? Just so ! ” quoth Rankin, helping 
himself. “ How should a man be, who is on the high road 
to fortune ? ” 

He ought to be pretty chirpy, I should think,” said 

Jack. 

“ Chirpy ! That’s the word. * Chirpy ’ describes me. 
So does ‘ fit.’ The money is rolling in, gentlemen. Busi- 
ness is on the full upward boom, and I feel particularly 
‘ fit ’ to-day — also chirpy.” 

“ Got a partnership ? ” inquired Geoffrey, with interest. 

“ I suppose you mean a partnership with Mr. Bean, 
and I answer emphatically ‘No.’ I refer to my own 
business, sir, and I have no intention of taking Mr. Bean 


i6 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


into partnership. Bean is dying for a partnership with 
me. Sha’n’t take Bean in. A client of mine came in to- 
day— 

“ Great Scott ! you haven’t got a client, have you ? ” 
cried Geoffrey, starting from his chair. 

“ Don’t interrupt me,” said Mr. Rankin. “ As I was 
saying,” he added with composure, “ a client of mine — ” 

“ No, no, Morry ! This is too much. If you want us 
to believe you, give us some particulars about this client — 
just as an evidence of good faith, you know.” 

“ The client you are so inquisitive about,” said Rankin, 
with dignity, “ is a lady who has been, in a sense, prema- 
turely widowed — ” 

“ It’s Mrs. Priest,” said Jack, turning to Geoffrey. He 
has been defending her for stealing coal, sure as you’re 
born ! ” 

“ The lady came to me,” said Maurice, taking no no- 
tice of the interruption, ‘‘ about a month ago, apparently 
with a view to taking proceedings for alimony — at least her 
statement suggested this — ” 

By Jove, this is getting interesting ! ” said Jack. 

But on questioning the unfortunate woman as to her 
means, I found that her funds were in a painfully low con- 
dition — in fact, at a disgustingly low ebb, viewed from a 
professional standpoint. And I also found that her hus- 
band had offered her four dollars a week, to be paid 
weekly, on condition that he should never see her and 
that somebody else should collect the money. The hus- 
band was evidently a bold, bad man to have given rise to 
the outbursts of jealously which it pained me to listen to, 
and the poor lady, forgetful of my presence and with all 
the ability of an ancient prophet, denounced two or three 
women both jointly and severally. She then roused her- 
self, and asked what I would charge to collect her four 
dollars per week. This seemed to decide the alimony 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


17 

suit in the negative, and from the fact that she was, not 
to put too fine a point upon it, three parts drunk at the 
time, I thought it better to say what I would do. So now 
I collect four dollars a week from her husband and pay it 
over to her every Saturday, for which I deduct, each time, 
the sum of twenty-five cents. There is a good deal of 
money to be made in the practice of the law.” 

What about the husband ? ” asked Jack, laughing. 

I believe that I was invited to-day to dine — at least 
I came with that intention. Instead of talking any more, 
I would be better satisfied if somebody produced so much 
as the photograph of a chicken— and after that I will 
further to you unfold my tale.” 

Mr. Rankin slapped a waistcoat that appeared to be 
unduly slack about the lower buttons. 

They then repaired to the club, where, having but a 
small appetite himself, and the representatives of bank 
distinguishing themselves more than he could as trencher- 
men, Rankin kept the ball rolling by relating his experi- 
ences as a barrister, which seemed to amuse his two 
friends. These experiences, leading to police-court items 
and police-court savages, brought up the question of 
“What is a savage?” — which introduced the Fuegians, 
the wild natives of Queensland, the Mayalans, and others, 
with whom Hampstead compared the lowest-class Irish. 
He had profited by much travel and reading, and anthro- 
pology was a subject on which he could be rather brill- 
iant. To show how our civilization is a mere veneer, he 
drew a comparison between savage and civilized fashions, 
and brought out facts culled from many different peoples 
— not omitting Schweinfurth’s Monbuttoo women — as to 
the primitive nature of the dress-improver. Then, some- 
how, the conversation got back to the police court, and 
the question, “ What is a criminal ? ” and they agreed 
that if the harm done to others was one criterion of guilt, 

2 


i8 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


it seemed a pity that some things — woman’s gossip, for in- 
stance — went so frequently unpunished. 

“And I think,” broke in Cresswell, after the subject 
had been well thrashed, “ that you two fellows are talk- 
ing a good deal of what you know very little about. 
After all your chatter, I think the point is right here (and 
I put it in the old-fashioned way) • If one does wrong he 
violates his own appreciation of right, and his guilt can 
only be measured by the way he tramples on his con- 
science, and as conscience varies in almost every person, 
I think we had better give up wading into abstractions 
and come down to the concrete — to the solid enjoyment 
of a pipe.” And Jack pushed back his chair. 

“Then, according to you. Jack, a fellow with no con- 
science would in human judgment have no guilt,” laughed 
Hampstead. 

“ I don’t believe there exists a sane man in the world 
without a conscience,” replied Jack, with his own optimism. 

“ I don’t think I agree with you,” said Rankin. “ I 
feel sure there are men who, if they ever had a conscience, 
have trained it into such elasticity that they may be said 
to have none. Do you not think so, Hampstead ? ” 

“ Really, I hardly know. I haven’t thought much 
upon the subject, but I think we ought, if we do possess 
any conscience ourselves, to give Jack a chance to light 
his pipe.” 

They soon sauntered back to the Tremaine Buildings, 
where Jack sat down at the piano and played to them. 
While Jack played on, Geoffrey seemed interested in 
police-court items, but Rankin preferred listening to 
Beethoven and Mozart to “talking shop.” After they 
had sung some sea-songs together and chatted over a 
glass of “ something short,” Rankin said good-night and 
mounted to No. 173 on the invisible stairs with as much 
activity as if daylight were assisting him. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


19 


Having lit his lamp, he soliloquized, as he attended to 
some faults in his complexion before a small looking-glass, 
“ So I have got another client, I perceive. That dinner 
to-day was a fee — nothing else in the world. I don’t 
know now that I altogether like my new client. He 
evidently didn’t get what he wanted. Perhaps Jack was 
in the way. Now, I wonder what the beggar does want. 
Chances are I’ll have another dinner soon. Happy 
thought 1 make him keep on dining me ad infinituvi ! 
Ornamental dinner ! Pleasant change ! ” 

Maurice undressed and walked up and down the 
room. ‘‘Perhaps I am* all wrong, though,” said he. “ I 
can’t help liking him in many ways, and he’s chock-full 
of interesting information. How odd that he didn’t know 
anything about a fellow having no conscience. Hadn’t 
thought over that idea. Very likely ! Gad ! I could 
imagine him just such a one, now that I have got sus- 
picious. He has a bad eye when he doesn’t look after it. 
It doesn’t always smile along with his mouth. I may be 
wrong, but I believe there’s something there that’s not the 
clean wheat,” and Maurice ascended to the woolsack and 
disappeared for the night. 


CHAPTER IV. 

How can I tell the feelings in a young lady’s mind ; the thoughts in a 
young gentleman’s bosom ? As Professor Owen takes a fragment of bone 
and builds a forgotten monster out of it, so the novelist puts this and that 
together : from the foot-prints finds the foot ; from the foot, the brute who 
trod on it ; . . . traces this slimy reptile through the mud ; . . . prods down 
this butterfly with a pin.— Thackeray {The Nezvcomes). 

Hampstead did not go to sleep, after Rankin had re- 
tired, as early as he expected. Jack Cresswell followed 


20 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


him into his bedroom and sat down, lit another pipe, and 
then walked about, and seemed preoccupied, as he had all 
the evening. Geoffrey did not speak to him at first, as 
this was not an unusual proceeding between the two, but, 
having got into bed and made himself comfortable by bully- 
ing the pillows into the proper shape and position, ad- 
dressed his friend : 

“ Now, old man, unburden your mind. I know you 
want to tell me something, but do not be surprised if you 
find me asleep before you get your second wind. If you 
care for me, cut it short.” 

Got a letter to-day,” said Jack, from her.” 

“Well, Jack, as you seem, with some eccentricity, to 
have only one “ her,” of course I am interested. Your 
feelings in that quarter never fail in their attraction. Pour 
into my devoted ear for the next five minutes (not longer) 
a synopsis of your woes or joys. What is it you want to- 
night ? Congratulation or balm for wounds ? ” 

“Oh, I don’t wish to keep you awake,” said Jack testi- 
ly, rising, as if to depart. 

“ Go on, sir. Go on, sir. Your story interests me.” 

Geoffrey assumed an attitude of attention. Jack smiled 
and sat down again. He had no intention of going away. 
He had thought over his letter all day, till at last a confi- 
dential friend seemed almost necessary. 

“ My letter comes from London. They’ve returned 
from the Continent, and, as they are now most likely on the 
sea, she’ll be at home in about a week.” And Jack seemed 
in a high state of satisfaction. 

“ Well, well ! I never saw a real goddess in my life,” 
said Geoffrey. “And there is no doubt about Miss Lin- 
don being one, because I have listened to you for two 
years, and now I know that she is what I have long wished 
to see.” 

■“ It will give me the greatest pleasure to have you know 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


21 


her. I have looked forward tremendously to that. Next 
to meeting her myself comes the idea of we three being 
jolly good friends, and going around together on little jam- 
borees to concerts and that sort of thing. I havn’t a doubt 
but what we three will ‘ get on ’ amazingly.” 

“ Playing gooseberry with success requires a clever 
person,” said Geoffrey. “ I don’t think I’m quite equal to 
the call for the tact and loss of individuality which the 
position demands. However, dear boy, I am quite aware 
that to introduce me to the lady of your heart as your par- 
ticular friend is the greatest compliment one fellow can pay 
another — all things considered. Don’t you think so ? Oh, 
yes, I dare say we will be a trio quite out of the common. 
But, if she is as pretty as you say she is, I’ll have to look 
at her, you know. Can’t help looking at a handsome 
woman, even if she were hedged in with as many prohibi- 
tions as the royal family. You’ll have to get accustomed 
to that^ of course.” 

“ But that’s the very reason why I want you to know 
her,” said Jack, in his whole-souled way. “ I really often 
feel as if her beauty and brightness and her power of 
pleasing many should not be altogether monopolized by 
any one man. It would redouble my satisfaction if I 
thought you admired her also.” Jack stopped for a mo- 
ment as he considered that her power of “ pleasing many ” 
had been rather larger at times than he had cared about. 
“ It seems to me that she has enough of these attractions 
for me, and some to spare for others.” 

Geoffrey smiled as he wondered if the girl herself 
thought she had enough to spare for others besides Jack. 

“ Young man, your sentiments do you credit ! It must 
make things much more satisfactory to an engaged girl to 
understand that she is expected not to neglect the outside 
world whenever she is able ‘ to tear herself away,’ as it 
were.” 


22 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


“I see you grinning to yourself under the bed-clothes,’* 
said Jack, who rather winced at this. “ I don’t know that 
I ever asked her to distribute herself more than she did. 
On the contrary, if you must have the unvarnished truth, 
quite the reverse.” Jack reddened as he ventilated some 
of the truths which are generally suppressed. “ The fact 
is, it was rather the other way. I frequently have acted 
like a donkey when I didn’t get her undivided attention. 
You know girls often get accused of flirting, and when one 
hears their own explanation, nothing seems clearer, you 
know, than that there was no occasion for the row at all.” 

Geoffrey thought he did know, but said nothing. 

“Two years, though, make changes, and having seen 
nothing of her for such a long time, I feel as if one glimpse 
of her would repay me for all the waiting. I should never 
have thought of our differences again if you had not raked 
them up.” 

“ Which I am sorry to have done,” said Geoffrey. “ No 
doubt, two years do sometimes make a difference. I am 
sure you treat the affaire sublimely, and, if she is equally 
generous in her thoughts of you, it will be a unique thing 
to gaze upon both of you at once.” 

Jack took Geoffrey’s remarks in good part, for he had got 
accustomed to the cynical way the latter treated most things. 
It was his wayy he thought, and Geoffrey was “ such an all- 
round good fellow, and all that sort of thing, you know,” 
that it was to be expected that he should have “ ways.’j 
Besides this, Jack had seen from time to time that, though 
very ready to recognize sterling merit, Geoffrey had ability 
in detecting humbug, and that he considered the optimist 
had too many chances against him to make him valuable as 
a prophet. Thus, when he spoke in this way of Nina Lin- 
don. Jack supposed that his friend had his doubts, and, 
much as he loved her, he stopped, like many another, and 
asked himself whether she had such a generosity and no- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


23 


bility in her character as he had supposed. This, he felt, 
was rather beneath him in one way, and rather beyond him 
in another. When he looked for admirable traits, he re- 
membered several instances of good-natured impulse, and 
while the graceful manner in which she had done these 
things rose before him, he grew enthusiastic. Then he 
sought to call up for inspection the qualities he took ex- 
ception to. That she had seemed inconsiderate of his 
feelings at times seemed true. There was, he thought, a 
frivolity about her. He thought life had for him some few 
well-defined realities, and that she had never seemed to 
quite grasp the true inwardness of his best moments. But 
all was explained by her youth and the adulation paid to 
her. And then the memory of her soft dark eyes and 
flute-like voice, the various allurements of her vivacious 
manner and graceful figure, produced an enthusiasm quite 
overwhelming. So he laughed at the defeat of his impar- 
tiality, looked over at Geoffrey, who was peacefully snoring 
by this time, and went away to his own room. But deep 
down in his heart lay the shadow of a doubt which, with 
his instinctive courtesy, he never approached even in 
an examination supposed to be a searching one. The 
inspection of it seemed a sacrilege, and he put it from 
him. Nevertheless, there had been times when Jack felt 
doubtful as to whether Nina could be relied upon for 
absolute truth. 

Joseph Lindon, the father of Nina, came from — no 
person seemed to know where. He, or his family, might 
have come from the north of Ireland or south of Scot- 
land, or middle of England, or anywhere else, as far as 
any one could judge by his face ; and, as likely as not, 
his lineage was a mixture of Scotch, Irish, English, or 
Dutch, which implanted in his physiognomy that conglom- 
eration of nationalities which now defies classification, 
but seems to be evolving a type to be known as distinct- 


24 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


ively Canadian. His accent was not Irish, Scotch, Eng- 
lish, nor Yankee. It was a collection of all four, which 
appeared separately at odd times, and it was, in this way, 
Canadian. 

His family records had not been kept, or Joseph 
would certainly have produced them, if creditable. He had 
the appearance of a self-made man. If want of a good edu- 
cation somewhat interfered with the completeness of his 
social success, it certainly had not retarded him in busi- 
ness circles. If he had swept out the store of his first 
employers, those employers were now in their graves, and 
of those who knew his beginnings in Toronto there were 
none with the temerity to remind him of them. Mr. Lin- 
don was not a man to be “ sat upon.” He had a bold front, 
a hard, incisive voice, and a temper that, since he began to 
feel his monetary oats, brooked no opposition. He might 
have been taken for a farmer, except for the keenness 
of his eye and the fact that his clothes were city made. 
These two differences, however, are of a comprehensive 
kind. 

Mr. Lindon, early in life, had opened a small shop, and 
then enlarged it. Having been successful, he sold out, 
and took to a kind of broker, money-lending, and land 
business, and being one who devoted his whole exist- 
ence to the development of the main chance, with a deal 
of native ability to assist him, the result was inevitable. 

His entertainments gave satisfaction to those who 
thought they knew what a good glass of wine was. Mr. 
Lindon himself did Few do. When exhausted he took 
a little whisky. When he entertained, he sipped the wine 
that an impecunious gentleman was paid to purchase for 
him, regardless of cost. So, although there were those who 
turned up their noses at Joseph Lindon while they swal- 
lowed him, there did not seem to be any reluctance in 
going through the same motions with his wine. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


25 


The fact that he was able to, and did entertain to a 
large extent was of itself sufficient in certain quarters to 
provoke a smile suggesting that the society in that city did 
not entertain. Some members had been among the exclu- 
sives for a comparatively short time, and the early occu- 
pation of their parents was still painfully within the mem- 
ory of the oldest inhabitant. A good many based their 
right on the fact that they came “ straight from England ” 
— without further recommendation ; while others pawed 
the air like the heraldic lion because they had, or used to 
have, a second cousin with a title in England. 

But these good people were partly correct when they 
hinted that some old families did not entertain much. 
Either there had been some scalawag in the family who 
had wasted its substance, or else the respected family had 
had a faculty for mortgaging and indorsing notes for 
friends in those good old times which happily are not 
likely to return. 

The consequence was that there was a good deal of 
satisfaction on both sides. Joseph Lindon could pat his 
breeches pocket, figuratively, and, not without reason, con- 
sider he had the best of it. Many a huge mortgage at ruin- 
ous interest made by the first families, who never lived 
within their means, had found its way to Lindon’s office, 
and many an acre, subsequently worth thousands of dol- 
lars, had been acquired by him in satisfaction of the note 
he held against the family scalawag. During all the times 
that these people had been ‘‘ keeping up the name,” as 
they called it, Lindon had been salting down the hard 
cash, and if some of his transactions were of the shady ” 
sort, he had, in dealing with some of the patrician families, 
some pretty shady customers to look after. 

But these transactions were in the old times, when 
Lindon was rolling up his scores of thousands. All he had 
to do now was to attend the board meetings of companies of 


26 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


which he was president, and to arrange his large financial 
ventures in cold blood over his chop at the club with those 
who waited for his consent with eager ears. Jf there were 
few transactions in business circles that he was not con- 
versant with, there were still fewer affairs in his own do- 
mestic circle that he knew anything about. It was his 
wife that had brought him into his social position, such as 
it was ; that is, his wife’s wishes and his money. 

Mrs. Lindon had been a pretty woman in her day, 
which, of course, had lost its first freshness, and she was 
approaching that period when the retrospect of a well- 
spent life is expected to be gratifying. Her married life 
with Mr. Lindon had not been the gradual conquest of 
that complete union which makes later years a climax and 
old age the harvest of sweet memories in common, as mar- 
riage has been defined for us. On the contrary, their mar- 
ried life had been a gradual acquisition of that disunion 
which law and public opinion prevent from becoming com- 
plete. The two had now established the semblance of a 
union — the system in which the various pretenses of deep 
regard become so well defined by long years of mutual 
make-believe, as to often encourage the married to hope 
that it will be publicly supposed to be the glad culmina- 
tion of their courtship dreams. 

Mrs. Lindon said of herself that she had been of a 
Lower Canadian family, with some French name, prior to 
her marriage, and her story seemed to suggest, in the ab- 
sence of further particulars, that Mr. Lindon had married 
her more for her family than her good looks. The “ looks ” 
were pretty nearly gone, but the “ family ” was still within 
the reach of a sufficiently fertile imagination, and so often 
had the suggestion been made that of late years the idea 
had assumed a definiteness in her mind which materially 
assisted her in holding her own in the society in which she 
now floated. A natural untidiness in the way she put on 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


27 


her expensive garments, which in a poorer woman would 
have been called slatternly, and the dark, French pretti- 
ness which she still showed traces of (and which was rather 
of the nurse-girl type) combined to suggest that in reality 
she was the offspring of Irish and French emigrant's, “and 
steerage at that ” — some of the first families said — “ decid- 
edly steerage.’* 

Mrs. Lindon was supremely her own mistress. This 
was not, perhaps, an ultimate benefit to her, but, as she had 
nothing on earth to trouble about, long years of idleness 
and indulgence in every whim had led her to conjure up a 
grievance, which she nursed in her bosom, and on account 
of it she excused herself for all shortcomings. This 
was that she was left so much without the society of Mr. 
Lindon. Often, in the pauses between the excitements she 
created for herself, tears of self-pity would arise at the 
thought of her abandoned condition. The truth was that 
she did not care any more for Lindon than he did for her ; 
but from the fact that she really did desire to have a hus- 
band who would see better the advantages of shining in 
society, the poor lady contrived to convince herself that he 
had been greatly wanting in his duties to her as a husband, 
that the affection was all on her side, and that that affec- 
tion was from year to year quietly repulsed. Their domes- 
tic bearing toward each other was now that of a quiet neu- 
trality. They always addressed each other in public as 
“ my dear,” and, if either of them had died, no doubt the 
bereaved one would have mourned in the usual way, on 
the principle of “ Nil de mortuis nisi bunku7ny 

It had not occurred to Mrs. Lindon that, if more time 
had been spent with her daughter in fulfilling a mother’s 
duties toward a young girl, there would have been less 
need for extraneous assistance to aid her in her passage 
through the world. Nina was fond of her mother, and it 
was strange that the two did not see more of each other. 


28 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


Nina could be a credit to her in any social gathering, and 
this made it all the more strange. But Mrs. Lindon was 
forever gadding about to different institutions, Bible-read- 
ings, and other little excitements of her own (for which 
Nina had no marked liking), and she seemed rather more 
easy in her mind when Nina was not with her. Perhaps 
Mr. Lindon was not solely at fault concerning the cool- 
ness pervading the domestic atmosphere. 

The charitable institutions had been the salvation of 
Mrs. Lindon — that is, in a mundane sense. When Joseph 
Lindon, with characteristic method, came home one day 
and said, “ My dear, I have bought the Ramsay mansion, 
and now I am going to spend my money,” Mrs. Lindon 
enjoyed a pleasure exceeding anything she had known. 
That was a happy day for her ! The dream of her life 
was to be consummated ! She immediately left the small 
church which she had attended for years and changed her 
creed slightly to take a good pew in a certain fashionable 
church. After this it was merely a question of time and 
money, both of which were available to any extent. She 
showed great interest in charities. She contributed hum- 
bly but lavishly. The ladies of good position w'ho go 
around with subscription-books smiled in their hearts at 
seeing the old game going on. They smiled and bled her 
profusely. They discussed Mrs. Lindon among themselves 
— with care, of course, because they did not wish to appear 
to have known her before. But as time wore on they 
thought she could be bled to a much greater extent if she 
were induced to become “ a worker in the flock,” which 
the good lady was quite willing to do. On being ap- 
proached by some of the leading spirits, she went first to a 
weekly Bible-class, which she had previously been afraid 
to attend because the audience was so select, and after 
this she showed such an interest in various charities 
that she was soon placed upon committees. By ladies 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


29 

with heads for real management on their shoulders she 
was led to believe that they really could not do without 
her mental assistance, so that at first when she was 
gravely consulted on a financial question and asked for 
her advice she generally eased the tension on her mind by 
writing a substantial check. This led her to believe that 
she had something of the financier about her, and she 
even told her husband that she was beginning to quite 
understand all about money matters, at which Joseph 
smiled an ineffable smile. 

She could have been used more advantageously if she 
had been kept out of the desired circle for a couple of 
years longer, because she was ready to pay any price for 
her admission. The good ladies made a slight mistake in 
being too hasty to control the bottomless purse, because, 
after she had got fairly installed, the purse was worked 
in several other ways, and the ecclesiastical drain on it 
became reduced to an ordinary amount. She gave 
a fair sum to each of the charities and accepted the 
attentions of those whom the odor of money attracted, 
without troubling herself in the slightest degree about the 
periodical financial difficulties of the institutions. 

Yet she never altogether relaxed her efforts in “ work- 
ing for the I^ord,” as she called it, in such good company. 
She acquired a taste for it that never left her. She would 
take a couple of the “ poor but honest ” ladies of good family 
with her, in her sumptuous barouche, to the “ Incurables ” 
and other places. After a capital luncheon at her house 
they would visit the “Home,” and sometimes kiss the poor 
women there ; and if the strengthening sympathy and re- 
ligious value of Mrs. Lindon’s kiss did not bind them to 
a life of virtue ever afterward they must indeed have been 
lost — in every sense of the word. 

Nina was not born for some time after Mr. and 
Mrs. Lindon had been married. Her mother had kept 


30 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


her, when a child, very much in the dark as to their an- 
tecedents, and, as the social position of the family had 
been well established by Mrs. Lindon when Nina was very 
young, the girl always had grown up with the idea that she 
was a lady; and in spite of a few wants in her father and 
some doubts as to her mother’s origin, she came out into 
society with a fixed idea that she was “ quite good enough 
for the colonies,” as she laughingly told her friends. 

No pains or expense had been spared in her educa- 
tion. She had first gone to the best Toronto school, and 
had “ finished ” at a boarding-school in England. Jack 
Cresswell knew her when she was at school, where she 
shared his heart with several others. When she emerged 
from the educational chrysalis and floated for the first time 
down a society ball-room Jack was after the butterfly hat- 
in-hand, as it were, and never as yet had he given up the 
chase. Mr. Lindon knew nothing of domestic affairs, but 
he had found Jack so frequently at his house that he had 
begun to see that his ambitious plans for his daughter 
were perhaps in dangei of being frustrated, and so, having 
at that time to send a man to England to float the shares 
of some company on the London market, he decided to go 
himself, and one day, when Jack was dining there, he 
rather paralyzed all, especially Jack, by instructing his 
wife and daughter to be ready in a week for the jour- 
ney. 

The parting on Jack’s part would have been tender if 
Nina had not been in such exasperatingly high spirits — 
hilarity he found it quite impossible to participate in or 
appreciate. He made her excuses to himself, like the de- 
cent soul he was, although he really suffered a good deal. 
He was an ardent youth, and for the week prior to de- 
parture he received very little of the sympathy he hungered 
for, but he tried to speak cheerfully as he held her hand 
in saying good-by. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD 


31 


Well, now, you won’t forget your promise, old lady, 
will you ? ” he said, while he tried to photograph her in 
his mind as she stood bewitchingly before him. 

“ What ! and throw over the French count that pro- 
posed to me in London ? ” she said archly. Jack mut- 
tered something under his breath that sounded like hos- 
tility toward the French count. 

She heard him, however, and said : “ Certainly. So 
we will. It will kill him, but you will rejoice. And I 
will come back and marry Jack. There ! isn’t it nice of 
me to say that ? Now, kiss me and say good-by ! ” 

She withdrew, and held the porch door so that only 
her face appeared, which Jack lightly touched with his 
lips, and then he went away speechless. As he went he 
heard her singing : 

“ And I’ll come back to my own true love, 

Ten thousand miles away.” 

This sentiment, from one of his yachting songs, 
smoothed the ragged edge of his feelings. He loved in 
an old-fashioned way, and in his ideas as to carrying out 
the due formalities of a lover’s leave-taking he was con- 
servative even to red-tapeism, and disappointment, tender- 
ness, anger, and hopelessness surged through his brain as 
they only can in that of a young man. 

There was further tragedy in that Jack, unable to sleep 
at night and despondent in the morning, must needs go 
down to the boat to see her “just once more ” before she 
left. The gangways had been hauled in and the paddle- 
wheels were beginning to move. Nina was standing inside 
the lower-deck bulwarks and leaned across the water to 
shake hands, but the distance was too great. She was in 
aggressively high spirits, and said to him, as he moved 
along the end of the wharf, keeping pace with the boat : 

“ Don’t you remember what your pet authoress says } ” 


32 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


“No,” said Jack, hoping that she would say something 
nice to him. 

“ She says that a first farewell may have pathos in it, 
but to come back for a second lends an opening to 
comedy.” . 

Her rippling laugh smote Jack cruelly. Then she 
tried to soften this by smiling and waving her hand to him 
as the boat swept away. Jack raised his hat stiffiy in re- 
turn, and wandered back to the bank with a head that felt 
as if it would split. 

And this was their parting two years ago. * 


CHAPTER V. 

Fair goes the dancing when the sitar’s tuned ; 

Tune us the sitar neither low nor high, 

And we will dance away the hearts of men. 

The string o’erstretched breaks, and music flies ; 

The string o’erslack is dumb, and music dies ; 

Tune us the sitar neither low nor high. 

Nautch girls' song. — The Light of Asia. Arnold. 

Mr. Lindon did not remain long with his family on 
the trip which Mrs. Lindon thought was only to last a 
month or two. On arriving in England, he transacted his 
business in a short time, and then proposed a run on the 
Continent. By degrees he took the family on to Rome, 
where they made friends at the hotel and seemed con- 
tented to remain for a while. He then pretended to 
have received a cablegram, and came home by the quick- 
est route, having got them fairly installed in a foreign 
country without letting them suspect any coercion in the 
matter. Afterward he wrote to say he wished Nina to 
see something of England and Scotland, and, the proposal 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


33 


being agreeable to Mrs. Lindon, they accepted invitations 
from people they had met to pay visits in different places, 
so that, together with an art course in Paris and a musical 
course at Leipsic, they wandered about until nearly two 
years had elapsed, when they suddenly suspected that 
Mr. Lindon preferred that they should be away, upon 
which they returned at once. 

Whether Nina came back “ in love ” with Jack was a 
question as to which he made many endeavors to satisfy 
himself. The ability to live up to the verb “ to love ” in 
all its moods and tenses is so varied, and the outward re- 
sults of the inward grace are often so ephemeral that it 
would be hazardous to say what particular person is suffi- 
ciently unselfish to experience more than a gleam of a 
phase that calls for all the most beautiful possibilities. It 
is not merely a jingle of words to say that one who is not 
minded to be single should be single-minded. 

Let us pass over the difficult point and take the young 
lady’s statement for what it was worth. She said, of her- 
self, that she was in love with Jack. He had extracted 
this from her with much insistence, while she aggravatingly 
asserted at the same time, that she only made the admis- 
sion “ for a quiet life,” leaving Jack far from any certainty 
of possession that could lead to either indifference or com- 
fort. 

Two or three proposals of marriage which she had while 
away had evidently not captured her, even if they had 
turned her head a little. She had seen no person she liked 
better than Jack or else she would not, perhaps, have 
come back in the way she did. The proposals, however, if 
they ever had been made, served to turn Jack’s daily exist- 
ence into alternations of hot and cold shower-baths. One 
day she would talk about a Russian she had met in Paris. 
Then she solemnly gave the history of her walks and talks 
with a naval officer in Rome, till Jack’s brow was damp 
3 


34 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


with a cold exudation. But when it came to the delightful 
appearance of Colonel Vere, and the devotion he showed 
when he took her hand and asked her to share his estates. 
Jack said, with his teeth clinched, that he had had enough 
of the whole business — and departed. He then spent two 
days of very complete misery, barometer at 28°, until she 
met him and laid her hand on his arm and said she was 
sorry ; would he stop being a cross boy ? that she had 
only been teasing him, and all the rest of it ; while she 
looked out of her soft dark eyes in a way that left no doubt 
in Jack's mind that he had behaved like a brute. 

In this way the first week of her return had been con- 
sumed, and as yet he had not felt that he could afford 
to divide her society with anybody. What with the rich 
Russian, the naval officer, and Colonel Vere — what with 
getting into agonies and getting out of them — it took him 
pretty nearly all his time to try to straighten matters out. 
So Geoffrey's introduction had not been mentioned further 
by him, except to Nina, who was becoming curious to see 
Jack’s particular friend and Admirable Crichton. The 
opportunity for this meeting seemed about to offer itself in 
the shape of an entertainment where all those who re- 
mained in Toronto during the summer would collect — one 
of those warm gatherings where the oft-tried case of 
pleasure vs. perspiration results so frequently in an un- 
doubted verdict for the defendant. 

The Dusenalls were among those wise enough to know 
that in summer they could be cooler in Toronto, at their 
own residence, with every comfort about them, than they 
could possibly be while stewing in an American hotel or 
broiling on the sands of an American seaport. They ob- 
jected to spending large sums yearly in beautifying their 
grounds, merely to leave the shady walks, cool arbors, and 
tinkling fountains for the enjoyment of the gardeners’ 
wives and children. In the thickness of their mansion 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


35 


walls there was a power to resist the sun which no thin 
wooden hotel can possess ; therefore, in spite of a fashion 
which is somewhat dying out, they remained in Toronto 
during the hot months, and amused themselves a good 
deal on young DusenalTs yacht. 

Their residence was well adapted for such a party as 
they were now giving, and the guests were made to un- 
derstand that in the afternoon there would be a sort of 
garden-party, with lawn-tennis chiefly in view, and at 
dark a substantial high tea — to wind up with dancing as 
long as human nature could stand the strain ; and if any 
had got too old or too corpulent or too dignified to play 
tennis, they could hardly get too much so to look on ; or, 
if this lacked interest, they could walk about the lawns 
and gardens and converse, or, if possible, make love ; or 
listen to a good military band while enjoying a harmless 
cigarette ; and if they liked none of these things they 
coiild never have been known by the people of whom this 
account is given, and thus, perhaps, might as well never 
have been born. 

The men, of course, played in their flannels, which a 
few of them afterward changed in Charley Dusenall’s 
rooms when there was a suspension of hostilities for toilets. 
Most of them went home to dinner and appeared later on 
for the dancing. People came in afternoon-dress and re- 
mained for tea and through the evening in that attire, 
or else they dropped in at the usual time in evening-dress. 
It did not matter. It was all a sort of “ go-as-you-please.” 
Some girls danced in their light tennis dresses, and others 
had their maids come with ball dresses. Of course the 
majority came late — especially the chaperons, the heavy 
fathers, starchy bank-managers, and such learned counsel 
as scorned not to view the giddy whirl nor to sample the 
cellars of the Dusenalls. 

Mrs. Lindon arrived with her daughter late in the 


36 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


evening, when everything was whirling. Jack had his 
name down for a couple of dances, and a few more were 
bestowed upon eager aspirants, and then she had no more 
to give away — so sorry ! — card quite filled ! She told 
dancing fibs in a charming manner that seemed to take 
away half the pang of disappointment. This was a field- 
day, and the discarded ones could receive more notice on 
some other, smaller occasion. 

To see Jack and Nina dancing together was to see two 
people completely satisfied with themselves. As a dancer. 
Jack “fancied himself.” He had an eye for calculating 
distances and he had the courage of his opinions when 
he proposed to dance through a small space. As for 
Nina, she was the incarnation of a waltz. Her small feet 
seemed as quick as the pat of a cat's paw. In watching 
her the idea of exertion never seemed to present itself. 
There is a pleasure in the rhythmic pulsations of the feet 
and in yielding to the sensuous strains of the music 
(which alone seems to be the propelling power) that is 
more distinctly animal than a good many of our other 
pleasures ; and Nina was born to dance. 

At the end of Jack’s first dance with her, Geoffrey 
came idling through the conservatory, and entered the 
ball-room close beside the place where Mrs. Lindon was 
seated with several other mothers. As the last bars of the 
waltz were expiring. Jack brought up at what he called 
“ the moorings ” with all the easy swing and grace of a 
dancer who loves his dance. The act of stopping seemed 
to divide the unity in trinity existing between his partner, 
himself, and the music, and it was therefore to be regretted, 
and not to be done harshly, but lingeringly, if it must be 
done, while Nina, as he released her, came forward toward 
her mother with her sleeveless arms still partly hanging in 
the air, and with a pretty little trip and slide on the floor, 
as if she could not get the “ time ” out of her feet. Her head 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


37 


was slightly thrown back, the eyelids were drooped, and 
the lips were parted with a smile of recognition for Mrs. 
Lindon, while her attitude showed the curves of her small 
waist to advantage ; so that the first glimpse of Nina that 
Geoffrey received was not an unpleasant one. She seemed 
to be moving naturally and carelessly. She was only en- 
deavoring to make the other mothers envious, when they 
compared her with their own daughters. Such wiles were 
part of her nature. When feeling particularly vigorous, 
almost every attitude of some people is a challenge — males 
with their bravery, females with their graces — and, what- 
ever changes the future may develop in the predilections 
of woman, there may for a long time be some left to 
acknowledge that for them a likable man is one who is 
able to assert, in a refined way, sufficient primitive force 
to make submission seem like conquest rather than 
choice. 

Jack at once introduced Geoffrey — his face beaming 
while he did so. He was so proud of Nina. He was so 
proud of Geoffrey. Nina was blushing at having Hamp- 
stead witness her little by-play with her mother at the con- 
clusion of the dance — but not displeased withal. Jack 
thought he had never seen her look so beautiful. And 
Geoffrey was such a strapper. Jack surveyed them both 
with unbounded satisfaction. He slapped Hampstead on 
the arm, and tightened the sleeve of his coat over his bi- 
ceps, patting the hard limb, and saying warmly : “ Here’s 
where the secret lies, Nina ! This is what takes the 
prizes.” 

‘‘So you are Jonathan’s David, are you?” said Nina, 
smiling, as they talked together. 

“Well, he patronizes me a good deal,” said Geoffrey. 
“But don’t you think he looks as if he wished to find his 
next partner? Suppose we give him a chance to do so ; 
let us go off and discuss his moral character.” 


38 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


He went away with Nina on his arm, leaving Jack quite 
radiant to see them both so friendly. 

When they arrived in the long conservatory adjoining, 
Geoffrey held out his hand for her card. He did not ask 
for it, except perhaps by a look. Having possessed himself 
of it, he found five successive dances vacant — evidently 
kept for some one, and he was bold enough suddenly to 
conclude they had been kept for him. He looked at the 
card amused, and as he scratched a long mark across all 
five, he drawled, May I have the pleasure of — some 
dances.? ” And then he mused aloud as he examined the 
card, “ Don’t seem to be more than five. Humph ! Too 
bad ! But perhaps we can manage a few more, Miss Lin- 
don?” 

Nina was accustomed to distribute her favors with a 
reluctant hand and with a condescension peculiarly her 
own, and to hear suppliant voices around her. She would 
be capricious, and loved her power. Even Jack did not 
count upon continued sunshine, and took what he could 
get with some thanksgivings. She was a presumptive heir- 
ess, and had not escaped the inflation of the purse-proud. 
But, on the other hand, since her return she had heard 
a good deal about the various perfections of his friend, 
and how well he did everything ; and from what her girl 
friends said, she had gleaned that Geoffrey was more in 
demand than would be confessed. He was not very de- 
sirable financially, perhaps, but hugely so because he was 
sought after. This much would have been sufficient to 
have made her amused rather than annoyed at his cool 
way of assuming that she would devote herself to him for 
an unlimited time, but there was something more about 
Geoffrey than mere fashion to account for his popularity, 
and that was the peculiar influence of his presence upon 
those with whom he conversed. 

Thus Nina, if she came to the Dusenalls with the in- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


39 


tendon of having a flirtation with Geoffrey, which the 
condition of her card and her acquiescence to his demands 
confessed, had hit upon a person who was far more than 
her match, for Hampstead’s acquaintanceships were not 
much governed by rule. As long as a girl diverted him 
and wished to amuse herself he had no particular creed as 
to consequences, but merely made it understood — ver- 
bally, at least — that there was nothing lasting about the 
matter, and that it was merely for “ the temporary mutual 
benefit and improvement of both parties.” This was a 
remnant of a code of justification by which he endeavored 
to patch up his self-respect ^ but nobody knew better 
than he that such phrases mean nothing to women who 
are falling in love and intend to continue in love. 

Underneath the careless tones with which he spoke to 
Nina there was an earnestness and concentration that 
influenced her. As he gravely handed back her card and 
caught and held her glance with an intensity in his gray 
eyes and will-power in his face, she felt, for the first time 
with any man, that she was not completely at her ease. 
When obeying the warning impulses that formerly ful- 
filled the offices of thought women do not often make 
a mistake. By these intuitions, sufficient at first for self- 
protection, she knew there was willfulness and mastery in 
him, and that if she would be true to Jack she should re- 
turn to him. If change of masters be hurtful to women, 
this was the time for her to remember about the woman 
who hesitates. Geoffrey said, “ Let us go in and have a 
dance. Miss Lindon,” and she rose with a nervous smile 
and glanced across to the place where her mother was sit- 
ting. But Mrs. Lindon had never been a tower of strength 
to her, or she might have gone to her. She had a distinct 
feeling that this new acquaintance was more powerful in 
some way than she had anticipated, and that everything was 
not all right with Jack’s interests, and she was at one of 


40 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


those moments when a woman’s ability to decide is so pe- 
culiarly the essence of her character, circumstances, and 
teaching as fairly to indicate her general moral level, 
Goethe tells us “ to first understand ” ; but if we can not 
know the extent of Geoffrey’s influence, or how far her 
unknown French lineage assisted temptation, we would 
better leave judgment alone. Geoffrey said something in 
her ear about the music being delicious. She listened for 
a moment and longed for a dance with him. Rubbish ! 
only a dance, after all ! And the next moment she was 
circling through the ball-room with his arm around her. 

The band that played at the Dusenalls’ was one that 
could be listened to with pleasure. It was composed of 
bottle-nosed Germans who worked at trades during the 
day and who played together generally for their own 
amusement. In all they played they brought out the 
soul of the movement. It was to one of the dreamiest of 
waltzes that Nina danced with Geoffrey — one of those 
pieces where from softer cadences the air swells into 
rapturous triumph, or sinks into despair, and wooes the 
dancer into the most unintellectual and pleasant frame of 
mind — if the weather be not too warm. 

A cool night breeze was passing through the room, 
bringing with it the fragrance of the dewey flowers outside, 
and carrying off the odor of those nauseating tube-roses 
(which people will wear), and replacing it with a perfume 
more acceptable to gods and men — especially men. 

If Jack fancied himself ” as a dancer, Geoffrey had a 
better right to do so. His stature aided him also, and 
men with retreating chins were rather inclined to give him 
the road. He had a set look about the lower part of his 
face which in crowds was an advantage to him. It sug- 
gested some vis major — perhaps a locomotive, which no 
one cares to encounter. 

In two minutes after they had embarked on this hazard- 


GEOP'FREY HAMPSTEAD. 


41 


ous voyage Nina had but one idea, or rather she was con- 
scious of a pervading sense of pleasure, that ran away with 
her calmer self. No thought of anything definite was with 
her, only a vague consciousness of turning and floating, of 
being admired, of being impelled by music and by Geoffrey. 
As the dance went on it seemed like some master power that 
led through the mazes delightfully and resistlessly. 

When the music ended, for they had never stopped, 
she sighed with sorrow. It had been too short. She had 
yielded herself so completely to its fascination that she 
seemed like one awakening from a dream. . And then her 
conscience smote her when she thought of Jack, and how 
in some way she had enjoyed herself too much, and did 
not seem to be quite the same girl that she had been half 
an hour before ; but these thoughts left her as they walked 
about and spoke a few words together. While circling the 
long room she noticed Geoffrey bowing to a tall young 
lady whose long white silk train swept behind her majes- 
tically. There was a respect and gravity in his bow which 
Nina, with her quick observation, noticed. 

“ Who is that you are bowing to ? ” she asked. 

That is Miss Margaret Mackintosh.” 

Oh, I think she is perfectly lovely,” said Nina, as she 
looked back admiringly. 

“ So do I,” said Geoffrey. 

Nina turned about now with curiosity, in order to meet 
her again. Miss Mackintosh came down the room once 
more with a partner who was one of the very young per- 
sons who now are the dancing men in Toronto — called the 
“infants” by a lady (still unwon) who remembers when 
there were marriageable men to be found dancing at par- 
ties. This detrimental with Miss Mackintosh was having 
an enjoyable time of it. What with the beauty of his part- 
ner, her stately figure, gracious manner, and the rapidity 
with which she talked to him, the little man did not quite 


42 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


know where he was, and he could do little else than turn 
occasionally and murmur complete acquiescence in what 
she was saying, while he sometimes glanced at her active 
face for a moment. In doing this, though, he would lose 
the thread of her discourse, in consequence of his unfeigned 
admiration, and, as he was straining every nerve to follow 
her quick ideas, this was a risky thing to do. Once or 
twice, seeing him turn toward her so attentively, she 
turned also and said, “ Don’t you think so ? ” and then 
the little man would endeavor to mentally pull himself to- 
gether, and with some appearance of deep thought would 
again acquiesce with unction. Certainly he thought he did 
think so — every time. 

The close scrutiny of Hampstead and Nina did not 
seem to affect her as she passed them with her face un- 
lifted and earnest. She did not seem to have any side 
eyes open to see who were regarding her. When the hand- 
some dress that had made such a cavern in her allowance 
money was trodden on, she gathered it up with an active 
movement— not seeming to notice the unpleasantness, nor 
for a moment abating the earnestness of her conversation. 
Her idea seemed to be to prevent the dress from inter- 
rupting her rather than to save it. One could see that, 
once on, the dress was perhaps not thought of again, that 
it was not the main part of her pleasure, but was lost in 
her endeavor to make herself agreeable, and in this way 
to enjoy herself. 

“I am sure she must have a very kind heart,” said 
Nina, smiling. 

“ Why } ” asked Geoffrey. 

“ Because she takes so much trouble over such a poor 
specimen of a man.” 

“Perhaps, as Douglas Jerrold said, she belongs to the 
Royal Humane Society,” added Geoffrey. 

As Nim. could not remember being acquainted with 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


43 


any Mr. Jerrold, the remark lost some of its weight. The 
true inwardness of the old wit that comes down to us in 
books is our knowledge of the reputation of the joker. 

“ And does she dance well ? ” asked Nina. 

“ No,” said Geoffrey, as he still looked after Miss 
Mackintosh with grave and thoughtful eyes. “I don’t 
think she has in her enough of what Goethe calls the 
Maemonic element ’ of our nature to dance well.” 

“ Not very complimentary to those who can dance 
well,” said Nina, archly pointing to herself. 

Geoffrey shrugged his shoulders, as he looked at his 
partner. “ Some people prefer the daemonic element,” 
said he. But he turned again from the rose to the tall, 
white lily, who was once more approaching them, with 
something of a melancholy idea in his mind that men like 
him ought to confine themselves entirely to the rose, and 
not aspire above their moral level. Margaret Mackin- 
tosh was the one person he revered. She was the symbol 
to him of all that was good and pure. He had almost for- 
gotten what these words meant, but the presence of Mar- 
garet always re-interpreted the lost language. 

‘‘ And do you admire her very much ? ” Nina in- 
quired. 

“ I admire her more than any person I ever saw.” 

Sooner or later, it would have gone hard with Geof- 
frey for making this speech, if he had been any one else. 
But it occurred to Nina that he did not care whether she 
took offense or not. He was leaning against the wall, 
apparently oblivious, for the moment, to any of her ideas, 
charms, or graces, but looking, withal, exceedingly hand- 
some, and a thought came to her which should not come 
to an engaged young lady. She made up her mind that 
she would make him care for her a great deal and then 
would snub him and marry Jack. 

The music commenced again. 


44 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


“ Come now,” said Nina, gayly, “ and try a little more 
of the daemonic element.” 

Geoffrey turned to her quickly, and his face flushed as, 
to quote Shakespeare’s sonnet, “his bad angel fired his 
good one out.” He saw in her face her intention to sub- 
jugate him, and knew that he had accidently paved the 
way for this new foolish notion of hers by his candid 
admiration of Miss Mackintosh. 

“ Have you any of it to spare ? ” said he, as his arm 
encircled her for the dance. 

No verbal answer was given, but they floated away 
among the dancers. Here she forgot her slight feelings 
of resentment and retained only the desire to attract him, 
without further wish to punish him afterward. A few 
turns around the room, and she was in as much of a whirl 
as she had been before. They danced throughout the 
music — almost without ceasing; and when it ended she 
unconsciously leaned upon his arm, as they strolled off 
together, almost as if she were tired. The thought of 
how she was acting came to her, only it came now as an 
intruder. A usurper reigned with sovereign sway, and 
Right was quickly ousted on his approach. A little while 
ago, and the power to decide, for Jack or against him, 
was more evenly balanced ; but now, how different ! She 
was wandering on with no other impulse than the indefi- 
nite wish to please Geoffrey. If she had been a man, 
sophisms and excuses might have occurred to her. But 
it was not her habit to analyze self much, and even 
sophisms require some thought. 

They passed through the conservatory and out to the 
broad walk of pressed gravel, where several couples were 
promenading. Here they walked up and down once or 
twice in the cool breeze that seemed delicious after the 
invisible dust of the ball-room. Nina was saying nothing, 
but leaning on his arm, and it seemed to her that his low. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


45 

deep tones vibrated through her — as a sympathetic note 
sometimes makes glass ring — as if in echo. 

Geoffrey was wondering where all the pride and self- 
assertion had gone to in this girl who now seemed so trust- 
ful and docile. Even her answers seemed mechanical and 
vague, as if she were in some way bewildered. 

Jack, in the mean time, was elbowing his way through 
a crowd, trying to get one of his partners something to 
eat. He was the only person likely to notice her ab- 
sence, and this he did not do, and, as Geoffrey was down 
for five dances, he knew no others would be looking for 
her. So he walked on past the end of the terrace, and, 
descending some steps, proceeded farther till they came to 
more steps leading down into a path dark with overhanging 
trees. Nina hesitated, and said she was always afraid to go 
among dark trees, but Geoffrey said, Oh, Ell take care of 
you,” Then she thought it was pleasant to have an ath- 
lete for a protector, and she glanced at his strong face and 
frame with confidence. She no longer went with him as 
she had danced, with her mind in a whirl, but peacefully 
and calmly, with no other thought than to be with him. 
He took her hand as they descended the stairs, and, 
though she shrank a little from a proceeding new to her, 
it seemed natural enough, and gave her a sense of protec- 
tion in the dark paths. It did not occur to her that she 
could have done without it. She did not notice their silence. 
Geoffrey, too, thought it pleasant enough in the balmy air 
without conversation. He was interested by her beauty 
and her sudden partiality for him. 

At length he stopped in one of the distant paths as 
they came to a seat between the trunks of two large trees. 
Here they sat down at opposite sides of the seat, and Geof- 
rey leaned back against the tree beside him. The leaves 
on the overhanging boughs quivered- in the light of the 
moon, and the delicate perfume in the air spoke of flower- 


46 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


beds near by. He thought it extremely pleasant here, and 
he laid his head back against the tree beside him to listen 
to the tinkling of the fountain and to enjoy the scent-laden 
night air. An idea was still with him that this was the girl 
Jack was engaged to, and he thought it would be as well to 
keep that idea before him. He said to himself that he 
liked Jack, and thought he was very considerate, under 
the circumstances, for his friend when he took out a 
little silver case and suggested that he would like a 
cigarette. 

Nina did not answer him. She was in some phase of 
thought in which cigarettes had no place, and only looked 
toward him slowly, as if she had merely heard the sound of 
his voice and not the words. He selected from the case 
one of those innocuous tubes of rice-paper and prairie- 
grass, and, as he did so, the absent look on her face 
seemed peculiar. With a fuse in one hand and the cigar- 
ette in the other, he paused before striking a light, and 
they looked at each other for a moment as he thought of 
stories he had read of one person’s influence over another. 
Like many, he had a general curiosity about strange phases 
of mankind, and it occurred to him that Nina would make 
an interesting subject for experiment. Presently he said, 
in resonant tones, deep and musical : 

“ Do you like to be here, Nina.?^ ” 

She did not seem to notice that he called her by this 
familiar name, but she stood up and remained silently 
gazing at the moon through a break in the foliage. Her 
beauty was sublimated by the white light, and, as Geoffrey 
took a step towards her, he forgot about his cigarette, 
and, taking both her hands in his, he repeated his ques- 
tion two or three times before she answered. Then she 
turned impetuously. 

“Oh, why do you make me do everything that is 
wrong? I should not be here. I should never have 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


47 


spoken to you. I was afraid of you from the first mo- 
ment I saw you.” 

Geoffrey led her by one hand back to the seat. 

“ Now answer me. Do you like to be here — with me, 
Nina.?” 

She looked at the moon and at the ground and all 
about, but remained mute and apparently pondering. 

He had forgotten Jack now as well as the cigarette, 
and was rapidly losing the remembrance that this was to 
be merely a scientific experiment. 

Your silence makes me all the more impatient. I 
will know now. Do you like to be here, Nina ? ” 

A new earnestness in his tone thrilled her and made 
her tremble. She turned with a sudden impulse, as if some- 
thing had made her reckless : 

“You are forcing me to answer you,” she said vehe- 
mently, as she looked at him with a constrained, though 
affectionate expression in her eyes. “ But I will tell you 
if I die for it. Oh, I am so wicked to say so, but I must. 
You make me. Oh, now let us go into the house.” 

Geoffrey’s generous intention to act rightly by Jack de- 
parted from him, and for a moment he drew her toward 
him, saying that she must not care too much for being 
there, “because, you know,” he said, “this is only a little 
flirtation, and is quite too good to last.” 

She seemed not to be listening to him, but to be think- 
ing*; and after a moment she said, in long drawn out, sor- 
rowful accents : 

“ Oh — poor — Jack ! ” 

Something in the slow, melancholy way she said this, 
and the thought of the poor place that Jack certainly held 
at the present time in her affections, struck Geoffrey as 
irresistibly amusing, and he laughed aloud in an unsympa- 
thetic way, which presented him to her in a new light, and 
she sprang from him at once. Her emotion turned to an- 


48 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


ger as she thought that the laugh had been derisive, and 
her blood boiled to think he could bring her here to laugh 
at her after he had succeeded in winning her so com- 
pletely. 

“ Come into the house at once,” she cried. “ I can't 
go in alone even if I knew the way.” 

Geoffrey rose and begged her pardon, assuring her 
that nothing but the peculiarity of her remark had caused 
his laugh. 

“ I will not stay here another instant. If you don’t 
come at once I’ll find my way alone.” And she stamped 
her foot upon the ground. 

Hampstead did not like to be stamped at, and his face 
altered. As long as she had been facile and pleasing, a 
sense of duty toward her and Jack had made him consid- 
erate. It had seemed to him while sitting there that this 
girl was his ; and the sense of possession had made him 
kind, but now that she seemed to vex him unnecessarily 
it appeared to him like a denial of his influence. The 
idea of the experiment suddenly returned, together with 
a sense of power and a desire to compel submission which 
displaced his wish to be considerate. He sat down on 
the seat again facing her and said : 

I want you to come here.” He motioned to the seat 
beside him. 

I won’t go near you. I hate you ! I’ll run in by 
myself.” 

“ You can not run away — ^because I wish you to come 
here.” 

Hampstead said this in a measured way, and his brow 
seemed to knot into cords as he concentrated his will- 
power. His face bore an unpleasant expression. A 
quarter of a minute passed and she stood trembling and 
fascinated ; and before another half-minute had elapsed 
she came very slowly forward, and approached him with 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


49 


the expression of her face changed into one of enervation. 
Her eyes were dilated, and her hands hung loosely at her 
sides. Hampstead saw, with some consternation, that she 
had become like something else, that she looked very like a 
mad-woman. A shock went through him as he looked at 
her — not knowing how the matter might terminate. He 
saw that she was mesmerized — an automaton moved by 
his will only. The combined flirtation and experiment 
had gone further than he had intended, and the result was 
startling — especially as the possibility that she might not 
recover flashed through his mind. The power he had been 
wielding (which receives much cheap ridicule from very 
learned men who would fain deny what they can not ex- 
plain) suddenly seemed to him to be a devilish one, and 
he felt that he had done something wrong. He had not 
intended it. An idea had seized him, and he was merely 
concentrating a power which he unconsciously used almost 
every hour of his life. He considered what ought to be 
done to bring her back to a normal state. Not knowing 
anything better to do, he walked her about quickly, speak- 
ing to her, a little sharply, so as to rouse her. 

Then, by telling her to wake up, and by asking her 
simple questions and requiring an answer, he succeeded 
in bringing her back to something like her usual condi- 
tion. When she quite knew where she was, she thought 
she must have fainted. All her anger was gone, and 
Geoffrey, to give the devil his due, felt sorry for her. 
It had been an interesting episode — something quite new 
to him in a scientific way — but uncanny. She still looked 
to him as if for protection, and she would have wept had he 
not warned her how she would appear in the ball-room. 
“ Oh, Mr. Hampstead, you have treated me cruelly," she 
said. Geoffrey felt that this was true enough. 

“ It was all my own fault, though. I do not blame you. 
You have taught me a great deal to-night. I seem to 
4 


50 


GEOF'FREY HAMPSTEAD. 


know, somehow, your best and your worst, and what a 
man can be.^' 

She leaned upon his arm, partly from weakness and 
partly because she felt that, good or bad, he was master, 
and that she liked to lean upon him. The movement 
touched Geoffrey with compassion. Having nothing to 
offer in return, it distressed him to notice her affection, 
which he knew would only bring her unhappiness. He 
tried, therefore, to say something to remove the impres- 
sions that had come to her. 

You speak of good and bad in me,” he said quickly. 
“ Now I think you are so much in my confidence that I 
can trust you in what I am going to say. Don^t believe 
that there is any good in me. I tell you the truth now 
because I am sorry that we have been so foolish to-night. 
There is no good in me. It is all — the other thing.” 

Nina shuddered — feeling as if he had spoken the 
truth but that it was already too late for her to listen 
to it. 

He took her back into the house, smiling and pleasant 
to those about him, as if nothing had occurred, and left 
her with Mrs. Lindon. 

But he did not go to find Margaret Mackintosh again. 
He went home somewhat excited, and smoked four or 
five pipes of tobacco. At first he was regretful, for he 
knew he had been doing harm. He said he was a whim- 
sical fool. But after a couple of night-caps ” he began 
to think how picturesque she had looked in the moon- 
light, and he afterward dropped off into as dreamless and 
undisturbed a sleep as the most virtuous may enjoy. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


51 


CHAPTER VI. 

For in her youth 

There is a prone and speechless dialect, 

Such as moves men ; besides, she hath prosperous art, 

When she will play with reason and discourse. 

And well she can persuade. 

Measure for Measure. 

If anybody had stated that Geoffrey Hampstead was 
a scoundrel, he would have had grounds for his opinion. 
As he did not attempt to palliate his own misdeeds, no- 
body will do so for him. He repudiated the idea of being 
led into wrong-doing, or driven into it by outside circum- 
stances. Whatever he did, he liked to do thoroughly, and 
of his own accord. When Nature lavishes her gifts, much 
ability for both good and evil is usually part of the general 
endowment ; and, although, perhaps, if we knew more, all 
wrong-doing would receive pity, Geoffrey possessed a 
knowledge of results that tends to withdraw compassion. 
But he had overstepped the mark when he had told Nina 
there was no good in him. Even his own statement re- 
minded him how few things there are about which a sweep- 
ing assertion can be made with truth. He grew impatient 
to find that so many people do not hold opinions — that 
their opinions hold them ; and when the good qualities of 
a person under discussion met with no consideration he 
invariably spoke of them. He had a good word to say for 
most people, and no lack of courage to say it, and thus 
he gave impression of being fair-minded, which made men 
like him. He had the compassion for the faulty which 
seems to appear more frequently in those whose lives have 
been by no means without reproach than among the strict- 
est followers of religions which claim charity as their own. 
He thought he realized that consciousness of virtue does 


52 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


not breed so much true compassion as consciousness of 
sin ; and a young clergyman of his acquaintance found 
that his arguments as to the utility of sin in the world were 
very shocking and difficult to answer. 

Thus he alternated between good and evil, very much 
in the ordinary way, with only these differences, that his 
good seemed more disinterested and his evil more pro- 
nounced than with most people. The good which he did 
was done without the bargaining hope of future compensa- 
tion, and therefore seemed more commendable. On the 
other hand, as he had almost forgotten what the idea of 
hell was, he was not forced to brave those consequences 
which, if some believe as they profess, must render their 
deliberate wrong-doing almost heroic. 

What should a man be called who had in him these 
combinations ? Too good to be either a Quilp or a Jonas 
Chuzzlewit, and much too bad to resemble any of the spot- 
less heroes of fiction. It will settle the matter with those 
who are intolerant of distinctions and who do not exam- 
ine into mixtures of good and evil outside their own range 
of life to have it understood and agreed that he was a thor- 
oughpaced scoundrel. This will place us all on a com- 
fortable footing. 

Some days after the Dusenalls’ entertainment Geoffrey 
was strolling along King Street when he caught sight 
of Margaret Mackintosh coming along the street with 
quiet eyes observant. She walked with a long, elastic 
step, which seemed to speak of the buoyancy of her 
heart. 

Geoffrey walked slower, so that he might enjoy the 
beauty of her carriage, and the charm of her presence as 
she recognized him. It seemed to him that no one else 
could convey so much in a bow as she could. With the 
graceful inclination of the head came the pleasure of rec- 
ognition and a quick intelligence that lighted up her face. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


53 


It was the bow of a princess, as we imagine it; not, it w'ill 
be remembered, as Canada has experienced it, A nobility 
and graciousness in her face and figure made men feel that 
she had a right to condescend to them. Innocence was not 
the chief characteristic of her face. However attractive, 
innocence is a poetic name for ignorance — the ignorance 
which has been canonized by the Romish faith, and has 
thus produced all the insipid virgins and heroines of the 
old masters and writers. She did not show that pliable, 
ductile, often pretty ignorance, supposedly sanctified by 
the name of innocence, which has been the priestly ideal 
of beauty for at least nineteen hundred years — perhaps al- 
ways. Hers was a good face, with a sweet, firm, generous 
mouth, possibly passionate, and already marked by sympa- 
thetic suffering from such human ills as she understood. 
She seemed to have nothing to hide, and she was as free 
and open as the day, and as fresh as the dawn ; and a large 
part of the charm she had for all men lay in the fact that 
her self-respect was so assured to her that she had forgot- 
ten all about it. She had none of that primness which 
is the outcome of an attempt to conceal the fact that 
knowledge of which one is ashamed is continually upper- 
most in the mind. 

As soon as her eye rested on Geoffrey, it lighted up 
with that marvelous quickness which is the attribute of 
rapidly-thinking people. In a flash her mind apparently 
possessed itself of all she had ever known of him. Five 
or six little things to say came tumbling over each other 
to her lips, as she held out her long gloved hand in greet- 
ing. Even Hampstead felt that her quick approach, ear- 
nest manner, and the way she looked straight at him al- 
most disconcerted him ; but he had thought to wait till she 
spoke to him to see what she would say. And she thought 
he would speak first, so a little pause occurred for an in- 
stant that would have been slightly awkward had they not 


54 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


both been young and very good-looking and much inter- 
ested in each other. 

“ And how are you ? ” said she heartily, as they shook 
hands. The pause might have continued as far as either of 
them cared. They were self-possessed persons — these two. 

Oh, I am pretty well, thank you,” said Geoffrey, with- 
out hastening to continue the conversation. 

“ And particularly well you look. Never saw you look 
better,” said Margaret. 

Geoffrey made a deep bow, extending the palms of his 
hands toward her and downward in reverent Oriental 
pantomime, as one who should say : “Your slave is hum- 
bly glad to please, and dusts your path with his miserable 
body.” 

“ And what brought you into town to-day ? ” said he, as 
he turned and walked with her. “ Not the giddy delight 
of walking on King Street, I hope ? ” 

“ That was my only idea, I will confess. Home was 
dull, and I was tired of reading. Mother was busy and 
father was away somewhere ; so I came out for a v/alk. 
Yes, King Street was my only hope. No, by the way — I 
had an excuse. I have been looking for a house-maid. 
None to be had though.” 

“Don’t find one,” said Geoffrey. “Just come out 
every day to look for one. I know several fellows who 
would hunt house-maids with you forever if they got the 
chance.” 

“ Ah ! they never dare to say that to me. They might 
get snapped up. Yet it is hard to only receive compli- 
ments by deputy, like this. Do they intend that, after all, 
I shall die an old maid ? And your banks friends are such 
excellent partis ! are they not.^ ” 

“ They are,” said Geoffrey. “ At least, they would be 
if they had a house to put a wife into — to say nothing of 
the maid.” 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


55 


“ Talking of house-maids,” said Margaret, “ I just met 
Mrs. whats-her-name — you know, the little American with 
the German name ; and she had just discharged one of 
her maids. She said to me, ‘You know I have just one 
breakfast — ice-cold water and a hot roll ; sometimes a 
pickle. Sarah said I’d kill myself, and in spite of every- 
thing I could say she would load the table with tea or 
coffee and stuff I don’t want. ’Last I got mad and I 
walked in with her wages up to date. I said, ‘Sarah I 
guess we had better part. You don’t fill the bill.’ I told 
her I would try and get Sarah myself, as I didn't object to 
her ideas in the matter of breakfasts. I have been looking 
for her and wanting some nice person to help me to find 
her. What are you doing this afternoon } Won’t you 
come and help me to find Sarah ? ” This, with a little pre- 
tense of implorando. 

“ If you think I ‘ fill the bill ’ as ‘ a nice person ’ noth- 
ing would give me greater pleasure. Sarah will be found. 
No, I have nothing in particular on hand to-day. I was 
going to the gymnasium to have a fellow pummel me with 
the gloves. I am certain I have received more headaches 
and nose-bleedings in learning how to defend myself with 
my hands than one would receive in being attacked a 
dozen times in earnest.” 

“ Well, now would be a good time to stop taking fur- 
ther lessons,” said Margaret. “ Why do you give yourself 
so much trouble ? ” 

“ Oh, for the exercise, I suppose, or the prestige of 
being a boxer. Keeps one’s person sacred, in a manner ; 
and among young men serves to give more weight to the 
expression of one’s opinions. I think it is a mistake, 
though, as far as I am concerned. Nature made me 
speedy on my feet, and when the time comes I’ll use her 
gift instead of the artificial one.” 

“ I have heard it said that it is much wiser for a gen- 


56 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


tleman to run from a street fight than to stay in it — that 
the fact of his not using his feet as a means of attack in a 
fight always places him at a disadvantage. Could you not 
learn the manly art of kicking, as well ? ’* 

“ What a murderous notion ! ” exclaimed Geoffrey. “ I 
don’t think that branch of self-defense is taught in the 
schools. It reminds one of a duel with axes. For my 
part, I think that hunting Sarah is much more improving. 
That is, if one did not have blood-thirsty ideas put into 
his head on the way.” 

And Margaret looked so gentle and pacific. 

“I always think a very interesting subject like this 
shobld be thought out carefully,” said she, smiling. 

If she could not talk well on all subjects, she was a 
boon to those who could only talk on o/u ; — to those who 
resemble a ship with only one sail to keep them going — 
slow to travel on, but capable of teaching something, and 
not to be despised. 

With her tall figure, classic face, and blonde hair, Mar- 
garet Mackintosh was a vision ; but when she came, with 
large-pupiled eyes, in quest of knowledge, even grave and 
reverend seigniors were apt to forget the information she 
asked for. University-degree young men, the most supe- 
rior of living creatures, soon understood that she sought 
for what they had learned, and not for themselves ; and 
this demeanor on her part, while it tended to disturb the 
nice balance in which the weight of their mental talents 
was accurately poised against that of their physical fasci- 
nations, went to make friends and not lovers. 

There was one person, however, to whose appearance 
she was not indifferent ; who always suggested to her the 
Apollo Belvedere, and gave her an increased interest in 
the Homer of arts, whereas the vigorous life, heroic resolve, 
and shapely perfection of the ancient hero meet with but 
little response in women who exist with difficulty. She 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


57 


was perhaps entitled, by a sort of natural right, to expect 
that a masculine appearance should approach that grade 
of excellence of which she was herself an example. 

“ Do you know,” she continued, as they proceeded up 
Yonge Street, “just before I met you I passed such a 
horrible young man, with long arms reaching almost to his 
knees and a little face. He made rne quite uncomfort- 
able. It’s all very well to believe in our evolution as an 
abstract idea ; but an experience like this brings the con- 
viction home to one’s mind altogether too vividly. It was 
quite a relief to meet you. You always look so — in fact, 
so different from that sort of person, don’t you know.? ” 

She nearly said he looked so like her Apollo, but did 
not. 

Geoffrey smiled. “There are times when the idea 
seems against common sense,” said he, with a short glance 
at her. 

“ Ah ! you intend that for me. But you are almost 
repeating father’s remark. You know he is a confirmed 
follower of the theory. A few days ago he said that the 
only thing he had against you was that you upset his 
studies. He says you ought to hire out to the special- 
creationists to be used as their clinching argument. So 
you see what it is to be an Ap — ” 

She stopped. 

“Ah ! you were going to say something severe, then,” 
said Geoffrey. “Just as well, though, to snub me some- 
times. I don’t mind it if nobody knows of it. But, 
about your father ? Do you assist him in his studies ? ” 

“ I don’t know that I assist him much. He does the 
hardest part of the work, and then has to explain it all 
to me. But I read to him a good deal when his eyes 
trouble him. After procuring a new book on the subject 
he never rests till he has exhausted it. We often worry 
through it together, taking turns at the reading. We 


58 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


have just finished HaeckeKs last. We are wild about 
Haeckel." 

“ Yes, there is something very spiritual and orthodox 
about him," said Geoffrey. ‘‘And now that you must 
have got about as far as you can at present, how does the 
theory affect you ? " 

“ Not at all, except to make me long to know more. 
If one could live to be two hundred years old, would it 
not be delightful ? " said Margaret, looking far away up 
the street in front of her. 

“ But as to your religion ? " asked Geoffrey. “ Do you 
find that it makes any difference ? " 

“ I don’t think I was ever a very religious person," she 
replied, mistaking the word religious for ‘ churchy.’ I 
never was christened, nor confirmed, nor taught my cate- 
chism, nor anything of that sort. Nobody ever promised 
that I should renounce the devil and all his works, and so 
— and so I suppose I never have." 

She looked at Geoffrey with the round eyes of guile- 
lessness, slightly mirthful, as if, while deprecating this 
wretched state, she could still enjoy life. 

Her companion could scarcely look away from her. 
There was such a combination of knowledge and purity 
and all-round goodness in her face that it fascinated him 
and induced him to say gravely : 

“ Indeed, one might have almost supposed that you had 
enjoyed these benefits from your earliest youth." 

“ No," she answered, “ I have been neglected in church 
matters. Who knows ? Perhaps, if I had been different, 
father and I would never have been such companions. I 
never remember his going to church, although he pays his 
pew-rent for mother and me to go. He is afraid people 
would call him an atheist, you know, and no man cares 
about being despised or looked upon as peculiar in that 
way. He says that as long as he pays his pew-rent the 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


59 


good people will let him alone. As for mother, I hardly 
know what her belief is now. She is mildly contemptu- 
ous of evolution ; chiefly, I think, because she does not 
know or care anything about it. She says the creed she 
was brought up in is quite enough for her, and if she can 
keep the dust out of the house and contentment in it she 
will do more than most people and fullfil the whole duty 
of woman. I don’t think she likes to be cross-questioned 
about her particular tenets, which really seem to be suf- 
ficient for her, except when she is worried over a new 
phase of the old family lawsuit, and then she oscillates 
between pugnacity and resignation. So you see I was left 
pretty much to myself as to assuming any belief that I 
might care about.” 

And what belief did you come to care about ? ” he 
asked, feeling interested. 

“Well, father seems to think that the most dignified 
attitude of our ignorance is a respectful silence ; but, as 
you have asked which belief I care about^ I can answer 
frankly that I like best going to church and saying my 
prayers. It is so much more pleasant and comfortable to 
try to think our prayers are heard, for, as mother says, 
reason and logic are poor outlets for emotion when the 
lawsuit goes wrong. With our information as it is, our 
conclusions seem to depend on whether we have or have 
not in us the spirit of research. They tell me in the 
churches that, being unregenerate, my heart is desper- 
ately wicked, and, as I have nothing but a little bad tem- 
per now and then to reproach myself with, I do not agree 
with them. On the contrary, I always feel that my life 
rather tends to lead me toward believing — or, at any rate, 
does not make me prejudiced. I like to believe that God 
watches over and cares for us. There being no proof or 
disproof of the matter, I would find it as difficult, byway of 
reasoning, to altogether disbelieve as to altogether believe.” 


6o 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


“ Then you make evolution a part of your religion ? ” 
asked Geoffrey. 

Margaret had been brought up in an advanced latter- 
day school. All the unrecognized passion within her had 
gone out in quest of knowledge, which her father had taught 
her to regard as a source of quiet happiness, or at least as 
comforting to the soul during the maturer years as an in- 
tricate knowledge of crochet and quilt work. When she 
took to her bosom the so-called dry-as-dust facts of sci- 
ence she clothed them in a sort of spirituality. Even slip- 
per-working for a married curate has been known to stir 
the pulses, and, though she knew that when the objects 
of our enthusiasm seem to glow it is unsafe to say whether 
the glow is not merely the reflection of our own fervor, 
she regarded the lately dug-up facts of science somewhat 
as if they were mines of long-hidden coal, capable of use 
and possessed of intrinsic warmth. Her face brightened 
with all the enthusiasm of a devotee as she answered 
Geoffrey’s question. 

“ Indeed, yes. The new knowledge seems like the 
backbone of my religion. I often sit in church and think 
what a blessed privilege it is to be permitted to know 
even as little as we do about God’s plan of creation.” 

She joined her hands before her quickly as she walked 
along, forgetful of all but the idea that enchained her. 
Her face showed the devotion seen in some old pictures 
of early saints, but it was too capable and animated to be 
the production of any of the old masters. 

“ Oh, it is grand to know even a little ! ” she ex- 
claimed ; “to think that this is God’s plan, and that bit 
by bit we are allowed to unravel it ! Is it not true that 
we acquire knowledge as we are able to receive it ? Did 
not the ruder people receive the simple laws which Moses 
learned in Egypt ? and did not Christianity expand those 
laws by teaching the religion of sympathy ? These are 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


6l 


historical facts. Why, then, should we not regard evolu- 
tion as an advanced gospel, the gospel of the knowledge of 
God’s works, to bind us more closely to him from our 
admiration of the excellence of his handiwork — as a father 
might show his growing son how his business is carried 
on, and how beautiful things are made 7 Of course, one 
may reply that all the discoveries do not show that there 
is a God. Perhaps they don’t ; but I try to think they 
do. I never have been able to find that verbal creeds do 
much toward making us what we are. The gloomy dis- 
tort Christ’s life to prove the necessity for sorrow ; the 
joyous do just the opposite. The naturally cruel practice 
their cruelty in the name of religion. Though all start 
with perhaps the same words on their lips, each indi- 
vidual in reality makes his religion for himself according 
to his nature. Look at the difference between Guiteau 
and Florence Nightingale. They both had the same 
creeds.” 

Hampstead was silent. 

“ I know that my religion might not suffice for others, 
because it has no terrors, but to me it is compelling. 
When I turn it all over more minutely, the beauty of the 
thoughts seems to carry me away. Let those whose brittle 
creeds are broken grope about in their gloom, if they 
will. To me it is glorious first to try to understand 
things, and then to praise God for his marvelous works.” 

Margaret grew more intense in her utterance as her 
subject grew upon her. They had turned off on a quiet 
street some time before, so there was nothing to interrupt 
her. As her earnestness gave weight to her voice, the 
words came out more fervently and more melodiously. 
Both her hands were raised, in an unconscious gesture, 
while the words welled forth with a depth and force im- 
possible to describe. 

Geoffrey walked on in silence. 


62 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


He thought of the passage, ‘‘ I came not to call the 
righteous, but sinners to repentance,” and he wondered 
whether Christ would have thought that such as Mar- 
garet stood in need of any further faith. The shrine of 
Understanding was the only one she worshiped at, arguing, 
as she did, that from a proper understanding and true wis- 
dom followed all the goodness of the Christ-life. He be- 
came conscious of a vague regret within him that he had, 
as he thought, passed those impressionable periods when a 
man’s beliefs may be molded again. There was a dis- 
tinct longing to participate in the assurance and joy 
which any kind of fixed faith is capable of producing. 
The Byronic temperament was not absent from him. He 
was keenly susceptible to anything — either moral or im- 
moral — which called upon his ideality ; and these ideas of 
Margaret’s, although he had thought of them before, 
seemed new to him. 

“ It seems strange,” he said musingly, “ to hear of 
some of the most learned men of the day erecting an altar 
similar to that which Paul found -at Athens ‘to the un- 
known God,’ and to find them impelled to worship some- 
thing which they speak of as unknown and unknowable.” 

“ And yet,” she answered, “ it is the work of some of 
these very men, and their predecessors, that gives the light 
and life to the religion which I, for one, find productive 
of comfort and enthusiasm. One can understand the prac- 
ticability of a heaven where a gradual acquisition of the 
fullness of knowledge could be a joyful and everlasting 
occupation ; and I think a religion to fit us for such a 
heaven should, like the Buddhist’s, strive to increase our 
knowledge instead of endeavoring to stifle it. What is 
there definitely held out as reward by religions to make 
men improve ? As far as I can see, there is nothing defi- 
nite promised, except in Buddhism perhaps, which men 
with active minds would care to accept. But knowledge ! 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


63 

knowledge ! This is what may bring an eternity of act- 
ive happiness. Here is a vista as delightful as it is 
boundless. Surely in this century, we have less cause to 
call God altogether ^ unknown ’ than had the men of 
Athens. In the light of omniscience the difference may 
be slight indeed, but to us it is great. ‘‘ I do hope,” she 
added, “ that what I have said does not offend any of 
your own religious convictions.” 

“I have none,” said Geoffrey simply; “and it is very 
good of you to tell me so much about yourself. I have 
been wanting something of the kind. You know Bulwer 
says, ‘ No moral can be more impressive than that which 
shows how a man may become entangled in his own soph- 
isms.’ He says it is better than a volume of homilies ; 
and it is difficult sometimes, after a course of reading mixed 
up with one’s own vagaries, to judge as to one’s self or oth- 
ers from a sufficiently stable standpoint. You always seem 
to give me an intuitive knowledge of what good really is, 
and to tell me where I am in any moral fog.” 

They walked on together for some little distance fur- 
ther when Margaret stopped and began to look up and 
down the street. 

“ Why, where are we ? ” she said. “ What street is 
this.?” 

“ I can not help you with the name of the street. I 
supposed we were approaching the domicile of Sarah. 
We are now in St. John’s Ward, I think, and unless Sarah 
happens to be a colored person you are not likely to find 
her in this neighborhood.” 

“Dear me,” said Margaret, as she descended from 
considering the possible occupations of the heavenly host 
to those usual in St. John’s Ward, “I have not an idea 
where we are. We must have come a long distance 
out of our way. It is your fault for doing all the 
talking.” 


64 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


“ On the contrary, Miss Margaret, I have been unable 
to get a word in edgewise." 

The search for Sarah was abandoned, and they wended 
their way toward Margaret’s home, the conversation pass- 
ing to other subjects and to Nina Lindon, whom they dis- 
cussed in connection with the ball at the Dusenalls’. 

“ They certainly seem very devoted, do they not ? ’’ 
said Margaret, referring to Jack Cresswell also. 

‘‘Yes, their attachment for each other is quite idyllic," 
said Geoffrey, lapsing into his cynical speech, “ which is as 
it should be. I did not see them much together, as I left 
early." 

“ I noticed your absence, at least I remembered after- 
ward not having seen you late in the evening, but, as you 
take such an interest in your friend, you should have stayed 
longer, if only to see the very happy expression on his 
face. You know she is spoken of as being the and 
certainly he ought to be proud of her, as the attention 
she attracted was so very marked. I thought her appear- 
ance was charming. They seemed to make an exception 
to the rule among lovers that one loves and the other sub- 
mits to be loved." 

“ 1 am glad to hear y,ou say this," said Geoffrey, as he 
silently reflected as to the cause of Nina’s return to do her 
duty in a way that would tend to ease her conscience. 
“ Jack is worthy of the best of girls. Have you ever called 
upon the Lindons ? ’’ 

“ No, not yet. But Mr. Cresswell spoke to me about 
Miss Lindon and said he would like me to know her. So 
I said we would call. I am afraid, however, that mother 
will complain at the length of her visiting list being in- 
creased. She will have to be coaxed into this call to 
please me." 

“Jack cherishes an idea that Miss Lindon, he, and I 
will become a trio of good friends," said Geoffrey. “ Now, 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


65 


if anything could be done to make it a quartette, if you 
would consent to make a fourth, Miss Margaret, I am cer- 
tain the new arrangement would be more satisfactory to 
all parties, especially so to me considered as one of the 
trio. A gooseberry’s part is fraught with difficulties.” 

The more the merrier, no doubt, in this case. Num- 
bers will release you from your responsibilities. I have 
myself two or three friends that ' would make excellent 
additions to the quartette. There’s Mr. Le Fevre, of your 
bank, and also Mr. — ” 

“ Ah, well ! ” said Geoffrey, interrupting. “ Let us con- 
sider. I don’t think that it was contemplated to make a 
universal brotherhood of this arrangement. If there are 
to be any more elected I should propose that the male 
candidates should be balloted for by the male electors 
only, and that additional lady members should be disposed 
of by their own sex only. Let me see. In the event of 
a tie in voting, the matter might be left to a general meet- 
ing to be convened for consultation and ice-cream, and, if 
the candidate be thrown out by a majority, the proposer 
should be obliged to pay the expenses incurred by the 
conclave.” 

“ That seems a feasible method,” said Margaret. 
‘‘Although I tell you, if we girls do not have the right 
men, there will be trouble. And now we ought to name 
the new society. What do you say to calling it ‘ An Asso- 
ciation for the Propagation of Friendly Feeling among 
Themselves ’ ? ” 

“ Limited,” added Geoffrey, thinking that the member- 
ship ought to be restricted. 

“ Oh, limited, by all means,” cried Margaret. “ I 
should rather think so. Limited in finances, brains, and 
everything else. And then the rules ! Politics and relig- 
ion excluded, of course, as in any other club ? ” 

“Well, I don’t mind those so much as discussions of 
5 


66 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


millinery and dress-making. These should be vetoed at 
any general meeting.” 

Excuse me. These are subjects that come under the 
head of art, and ought to be permissible to any extent ; 
but I do make strong objection to the use of yachting 
terms and sporting language generally.” 

“Possibly you are right,” said Geoffrey. “But Jack 
— poor Jack ! he must refer to starboard bulkheads and 
that sort of thing from time to time. However, we will 
agree to each other’s objections, but we must certainly 
place an embargo upon saying ill-natured things about 
our neighbors — ” 

“ Good heavens, man ! Do you expect us to be 
dumb? ’’cried Margaret. “Very well. It shall be so. 
We will call it the ‘ Dumb Improvement Company for 
Learned Pantomime.’ ” 

And thus they rattled on in their fanciful talk merrily 
enough — interrupting each other and laughing over their 
own absurdities, and sharpening their wits on each other, 
as only good friends can, until Margaret’s home was 
reached. 

To Geoffrey it seemed to emphasize Margaret’s youth 
and companionability when, in following his changing 
moods, she could so readily make the transition from the 
sublime to the ridiculous. 


CHAPTER VH. 

Rosalind. Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown more than your 
enemies. — As You Like It. 


In the few weeks following the entertainment of the 
Dusenalls, Hampstead had not seen Nina. He felt he had 
been doing harm. The memory of that which had occurred 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


67 

and a twinge or two at his unfaithfulness to his friend Jack 
had made him avoid seeing her. But afterward, as fancy 
for seeing her again came to him more persistently, he 
gradually reverted to the old method of self-persuasion, 
that if she preferred Jack she might have him. He said 
he did n<5t intend to show “ any just cause or impediment ” 
when Jack’s marriage bans were published, and what the 
girl might now take it into her head to do was no subject 
of anxiety to him. 

She, in the mean time, had lost no time in improving her 
acquaintance with Margaret after the calls had been ex- 
changed. Margaret was not peculiar in finding within her 
an argument in favor of one who evidently sought her out, 
and the small amount of effusion on Nina’s part was not 
without some of its desired effect. Nina wished to be her 
particular friend. She had perceived that a difference ex- 
isted between them — a something that Geoffrey seemed to 
admire ; and she had the vague impulse to form herself 
upon her. 

Huxley explained table-turning by a simple experiment. 
He placed cards underneath the hands of the people form- 
ing the charmed circle round the table, and when they 
all “willed” that the table should move in a particular 
direction the cards and hands moved in that direction, 
while the table resisted the spirits and remained firm on 
its feet. In a similar way, Nina’s impulse to know Mar- 
garet and frame herself upon her were all a process of un- 
conscious self-deception which resembled the illusions of 
unrecognized muscular movements. She had no fixed 
ideas regarding Hampstead. Her actions were simply the 
result of his presence in her thoughts. She moved toward 
him, distantly and vaguely, but surely — somewhat as the 
card of a ship-compass, when it is spinning, seems to have 
no fixed destination, though its ultimate direction is cer- 
tain. 


68 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


She found it easy to bring the Dusenall girls to regard 
Margaret as somebody worth cultivating. The family tree 
of the DusenalTs commenced with the grandfather of the 
Misses Dusenall, who had got rich “ out West.” On inquiry 
they found that Margaret’s family tree dwarfed that of any 
purely Canadian family into a mere shrub by confparison ; 
and on knowing her better they found her brightness and 
vivacity a great addition to little dinners and lunches 
where conversational powers are at a premium. 

With plenty of money, no work, an army of servants, a 
large house and grounds, a stable full of horses, and a good 
yacht, three or four young people can with the assistance 
of their friends support life fairly well. Lawn-tennis was 
their chief resource. Nina, being rather of the Dudu type, 
was not wiry enough to play well, and Margaret had not 
learned. She was strong and could run well, but this was 
not of much use to her. When the ball came toward her 
through the air she seemed to become more or less para- 
lyzed. Between nervous anxiety to hit the ball and ina- 
bility to judge its distance, she usually ended in doing 
nothing, and felt as if incurring contempt when involun- 
tarily turning her back upon it. If she did manage to 
make a hit, the ball generally had to be found in the 
flower-beds far away on either side of the courts. In 
cricketing parlance, she played to “ cover point ” or 
“ square leg ” with much impartiality. 

So these two generally looked on and made up for their 
want of skill in dignity and in conversation among them- 
selves and with the men too languid to play. The wonder 
was that the marriageable young women liked Margaret 
so well. With her long, symmetrical dress rustling over the 
lawn and her lace-covered parasol occasionally hiding her 
dainty bonnet and well-poised head, Margaret might have 
been regarded as an enemy and labeled “ dangerous,” but 
the girls trusted her with their particular young men, with 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


69 


a sort of knowledge that she did not want any of them, even 
if the men themselves should prove volatile and recreant. 
After all, what young girls chiefly seek “ when all the world 
is young, lad, and all the trees are green,” is to have a 
good time and not be interrupted in their whims. So 
Margaret, who was launching out into a gayer life than she 
had led before, got on well enough, and the wonder as to 
what girls who did nothing found to talk about was wear- 
ing off. If she was not much improved in circles where 
general advantages seemed to promise originality, it was 
no bad recreation sometimes to study the exact minimum 
of intelligence that general advantages produced, and the 
drives in the carriages and Nina’s village-cart were agree- 
able. She was partial to “ hen-parties.” Nina had one of 
these exclusive feasts where perhaps the success of many 
a persistent climber of the social ladder has been annihi- 
lated. It was a luncheon party. Of course the Dusenall 
girls were there, and a number of others. Mrs. Lindon 
did not appear. Nina was asked where she was, but she 
said she did not know. As she never did seem to know, 
this was not considered peculiar. 

On this day Margaret was evidently the particular 
guest, and she was made much of by several girls whom 
she had not met before. It was worth their while, for she 
was Nina’s friend and Nina had such delicious things — 
such a “ perfect love ” of a boudoir, all dadoes, and that 
sort of thing, with high-art furniture for ornament and 
low-art furniture in high-art colors for comfort, articles 
picked up in her traveling, miniature bronzes of well- 
known statues, a carved tower of Pisa of course, coral 
from Naples, mosaics from Florence, fancy glassware from 
Venice — in fact a tourist could trace her whole journey on 
examining the articles on exhibition. A French cook 
supplied the table with delectable morsels which it were 
an insult to speak of as food. Altogether her home was a 


70 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


pleasant resort for her acquaintances, and there were 
those present who thought it not unwise to pay attention 
to any person whom Nina made much of. 

There were some who could have been lackadaisical 
and admiring nothing, if the tone of the feast had been 
different, but Margaret was for admiring everything and 
enjoying everything, and having a generally noisy time 
and lots of fun. She was a wild thing when she got off 
in this way, as she said, “ on a little bend,” and carried 
the others off with her. 

What concerns us was the talk about the bank games. 
Some difference of opinion arose as to whether or not 
these were enjoyable. Not having been satisfied with at- 
tention from the right quarter at previous bank games, 
several showed aversion to them. Nina was looking for- 
ward with interest to the coming events, and Margaret, 
when she heard that Geoffrey and Jack and other friends 
were to compete in the contests, was keen to be a specta- 
tor. Emily Dusenall remarked that Geoffrey Hampstead 
was said to be a splendid runner, and that these games 
were the first he had taken any part in at Toronto, as he 
had been away during last year’s. It was arranged that 
Nina and Margaret should go with the Dusenalls to the 
games after some discussion as to whose carriage should 
be used. Nina asserted that their carriage was brand new 
from England and entitled to consideration, but the Du- 
senalls insisted that theirs was brand new, too, and, more 
than that, the men had just been put into a new livery. 
It was left to Margaret, who decided that she could not 
possibly go in any carriage unless the men were in livery 
absolutely faultless. 

Some days after this the carriage with the men of spot- 
less livery rolled vice-regally and softly into the great 
lacrosse grounds where the Bank Athletic Sports were 
taking place. The large English carriage horses pranced 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


71 


gently and discreetly as they heard the patter of their feet 
on the springy turf, and they champed their shining bits 
and shook their chains and threw flakes of foam about 
their harness as if they also, if permitted, would willingly 
join in the sports. There was Margaret, sitting erect, her 
eyes luminous with excitement. Inwardly she was shrink- 
ing from the gaze of the spectators who were on every 
side, and as usual she talked “ against time,” which was 
her outlet for nervousness in public places. Mrs. Mac- 
kintosh had made her get a new dress for the occasion, 
which fitted her to perfection, and Nina declared she 
looked just like the Princess of Wales bowing from the 
carriage in the Row. The two Dusenalls were sitting in 
the front seat. Nina sat beside Margaret. Nina was 
looking particularly well. So beautiful they both were ! 
And such different types ! Surely, if one did not disable 
a critical stranger, the other would finish him. 

The whole turn-out gave one a general impression of 
laces, French gloves, essence of flowers, flower bonnets, 
lace-smothered parasols, and beautiful women. There was 
also an air of wealth about it, which tended to keep away 
the more reticent of Margaret’s admirers. She knew men 
of whose existence Society was not aware — men who were 
beginning — who lived as they best could, and, as yet, were 
better provided with brains than dress-coats. Moreover, 
the Dusenalls had a way of lolling back in their carriage 
which they took to be an attitude capable of interpreting 
that they were “ to the manor born.” There was a sup- 
ercilious expression about them, totally different from 
their appearance at Nina’s luncheon, and they had 
brought to perfection the art of seeing no person but 
the right person. Consequently, it required more than a 
usual amount of confidence in one’s social position to 
approach their majesties. The wrong man would get 
snubbed to a dead certainty. 


72 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


After passing the long grand stand the carriage drew 
up in an advantageous spot where they could see the 
termination of the mile walking match. The volunteer 
band had brokenly ceased to play God save the Queen 
on discovering that theirs was not the vice-regal carriage, 
and, in the field. Jack Cress well was coming round the 
ring, with several others apparently abreast of him, heel- 
ing and toeing it in fine style. As they watched the con- 
test, sympathy with Jack soon became aroused. Margaret 
heard somebody say that this was the home-stretch. 
Several young bank-clerks were standing about within ear- 
shot, and she listened to what they were saying as if all 
they said was oracular. 

“ Gad ! Jack’s forging ahead,” said one. 

“Yes, but Brownlee of Molson’s is after him. Bet 
you the cigars Brownlee wins ! ” 

This was too much for Margaret. She stood up in the 
carriage and, without knowing it, slightly waved her para- 
sol at Jack, not because he would see her encourage- 
ment, but on general principles, because she felt like 
doing so, regardless of what the finer feelings of the 
Dusenalls might be. The walkers crossed the winning 
line, and it was difficult to see who won. Margaret sat 
down again, her face lighted with excitement, and said 
all in a breath : 

“Was not that splendid ? How they did get over the 
ground ! What a pace they went at ! Poor Jack, how 
tired he must be ! I do hope he won, Nina,” and she laid 
her hand on Nina’s tight-sleeved soft arm with emphasis. 

The Dusenalls did not think there was much interest 
in a stupid walking-match, and they thought standing 
up and waving one’s parasol rather bad form, so they 
were not enthusiastic. 

Nina said softly : “ Indeed, if you take so much inter- 
est in Jack I’ll get jealous.” 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


73 


While she said this her face began to color, and Mar- 
garet’s reply was interrupted by Geoffrey Hampstead’s 
voice which announced welcome news. He gave them all 
a sort of collective half-bow and shook hands with Nina 
in a careless, friendly way. 

“ I come with glad tidings — as a sort of harbinger of 
spring, or Noah’s dove with an olive-branch — or some- 
thing of the kind.” 

“ Is your cigar the olive-branch ? To represent the 
dove you should have it in your mouth,” said Nina. 
“ Stop, I will give you an olive-branch, so that you may 
look your part better.” 

She wished Geoffrey to know that she felt no anger 
for what had occurred at the ball. Geoffrey saw the idea, 
and answered it understandingly as she held out a sprig 
of mignonette. 

“ I suppose this token of peace can only be carried in 
my mouth,” said Geoffrey, throwing away his cigar. 

“ Certainly,” said Nina, and her gloved fingers trembled 
slightly as she put the olive-branch between his lips, 
saying “There ! now you look wonderfully like a dove.” 

Margaret was smiling at this small trifling, but her 
anxiety about the walking-match was quite unabated. 
She said : “ I do not see why you call yourself a harbin- 
ger of spring or anything else unless you have some- 
thing to tell us. What is your good news ? Has Mr. 
Cresswell won the prize ? ” 

“ By about two inches,” said Geoffrey. “ I thought I 
might create an indirect interest in myself, with Miss 
Lindon at least, by coming to tell you of it.” He wore a 
grave smile as he said this, which made Nina blush. 

“ And so you did create an indirect interest in your- 
self,” said Margaret. “ Now you can interest us on your 
own account. What are you going to compete for to- 


74 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


Hampstead was clad in cricketing flannels — his coat 
buttoned up to the neck. 

“ I entered for a good many things," said he, “ in order 
that I might go in for what I fancied when the time came. 
They are contesting now for the high-pole jump. Per- 
haps we had better watch them, as they have already 
begun to compete. I am anxious to see how they 
do it." 

High leaping with the pole is worth watching if it be 
well done. Margaret’s interest increased with every trial 
of the men who were competing, and she almost suffered 
when a “ poler " did his best and failed. One man incased 
in “ tights " was doing well, and also a small young fellow 
who had thrown off his coat, apparently in an impromptu 
way, and was jumping in a pair of black trousers, which 
looked peculiar and placed him at a disadvantage from 
their looseness. The others soon dropped out of the contest, 
being unable to clear the long lath that was always being 
put higher. These two had now to fight it out together. 
They had both cleared the same height, and the next ele- 
vation of the lath had caused them both to fail. Mar- 
garet was on her feet again in the carriage, her face glow- 
ing as she watched every movement of the “ polers." Her 
sympathies were entirely with the funny little man in black 
trousers. The other at length cleared the lath, amid ap- 
plause. But the little hero in black still held on and 
made his attempts gracefully. 

‘‘ Oh," said Margaret, gazing straight before her, I 
would give anything in the world to see that circus-man 
beaten ! " 

How much would you give. Miss Mackintosh ? " said 
Geoffrey. 

Margaret did not hear him. 

“ Oh, I want my little flying black angel to win. Is it 
impossible for anybody to beat the enemy ? " Then, turn- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


75 

ing excitedly to the girls, she said hurriedly, “I could 
just love anybody who could beat the enemy.” 

“ Does ‘ anybody ’ include me ? ” asked Geoffrey, laugh- 
ing. 

“Yes, yes,” cried Margaret, catching at the idea. 
“Can you really defeat him? Yes, indeed, I will devote 
myself forever to anybody who can beat him. Have you 
a pole ? Borrow one. Hurry away now, while you have a 
chance.” In her eagerness her words seemed to chase 
each other. 

“ Well — will you all love me ? ” inquired Geoffrey, with 
an aggravating delay. 

There was a shrill chorus of “ Until death us do part ” 
from the girls, and Geoffrey skipped over a couple of 
benches and ran over to the “ polers,” where he claimed 
the right to compete, as he had been entered previously in 
due time for this contest. Strong objection was imme- 
diately raised by the man in tights. The judges, after 
some discussion, allowed Geoffrey to take part amid much 
protestation from the members of the circus-man’s bank. 

Geoffrey took his pole from Jack Cresswell, who had 
competed on it without success. It was a stout pole of 
some South American wood, and very long. He threw 
off his coat, displaying a magnificent body in a jersey of 
azure silk. After walking up to look at the lath he grasped 
his pole and, making a long run, struck it into the ground 
and mounted into the air. He had not risen very high 
when he saw that he had miscalculated the distance ; so 
he slid down his pole to the earth. Derisive coughs were 
heard from different parts of the field, and “Tights” 
looked at Geoffrey maliciously and laughed. 

At the next rush that Geoffrey made, he sailed up into 
the air on his pole like a great bird, and as he became 
almost poised in mid-air, he went hand over hand up the 
stout pole. Then, by a trick that can not be easily de- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


76 

scribed, his legs and body launched out horizontally over 
the lath, and throwing away his pole he dropped lightly 
on his feet without disturbing anything. 

“ Tights ” was furious, and he said something hot to 
Geoffrey, who, however, did not reply. 

A difficulty arose here because there were no more holes 
in the uprights to place the pegs in to hold up the lath. 
Geoffrey was now even with the enemy, but not ahead of 
him. So he asked the judges to place the lath across the 
top of the uprights. This raised the lath a good fifteen 
inches, and nobody supposed that it could be cleared. 

There was something stormy about Hampstead when 
a man provoked him, and “ Tights ” had been very un- 
pleasant. He pointed to the almost absurd elevation of 
the lath ; his tones were short and exasperating as he ad- 
dressed his very savage rival : 

“Now, my man, there’s your chance to exhibit your 
form.” 

“ Tights ” refused to make any useless trial, but relieved 
the tension of his feelings by forcing a bet of fifty dollars 
on Geoffrey that he could not clear it himself. 

The excitement was now considerable. Geoffrey took 
the offered bet, pleased to be able to punish his antagonist 
further. But really the whole thing was like child’s-play 
to him. It seemed as if he could clear anything his pole 
would reach. His hand-over-hand climbing was like 
lightning, and he went over the lath, cricket trousers and 
all, with quite as much ease as when it was in the lower 
position, and this amid a wild burst of applause. 

He then grabbed his coat and made for the dressing- 
room, to prepare for the hurdle race, for which the bell 
was ringing. 

When he ran out into the field again, after about a 
moment, he was clad in tights of azure silk with long 
trunks of azure satin, and his feet wore running shoes that 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


77 

fitted like a glove. No wonder girls raved about him. 
So did the men. He was a grand picture, as beautiful as 
a god in his celestial colors. 

But there was work for him to do in the hurdle race. 
The best amateur runners in Canada were to be with him 
in this race, and there is a field for choice among Canadian 
bank athletes. They were to start from a distant part of 
the grounds, run around the great oval, and finish close to 
our carriage, v/here eager faces were hopeful for his suc- 
cess. Geoffrey made a bad start — not having recovered 
after being once called back. The first hurdle saw him 
over last, but between the jumps his speed soon put him 
in the ruck. There is no race like the hurdle race for ex- 
citement. At the fourth hurdle some one in front struck 
the bar, which flew up just as Geoffrey rose to it. His 
legs hit it in the air and he was launched forward, turned 
around, and sent head downward to the ground. The 
thought that he might be killed went through many minds. 
But those who thought so did not know that he could 
gallop over these hurdles like a horse, lighting on his 
hands. No doubt it was a great wrench for him, but he 
lit on his hands and was off again like the wind. 

The fall had lost him his chance, he thought, but he 
went on with desperation and pain, his head thrown back 
and his face set to win. It was a long race, and five 
more hurdles had yet to be passed. The first of these 
was knocked down, so that in merely running through 
he gained time by not having to jump, and he rapidly 
closed on those before him. His speed between jumps 
was marvelous. His hair blew back in blonde confusion, 
and he might well have been taken to represent some god 
of whirlwinds, or an azure archangel on some flying mis- 
sion. He hardly seemed to touch the earth, and Marga- 
ret, who delighted in seeing men manly and strong and 
fleet, felt her heart go out to him in a burst of enthusiasm 


78 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


that became almost oppressive as the last hurdle was ap- 
proached. 

There were now only two men ahead of him, and 
Geoffrey was so set on winning that it seemed with him to 
be more a matter of mind than body. A yell suddenly 
arose from all sides. One of the two first men struck the 
last hurdle and went down, and Geoffrey, shooting far 
into the air in a tremendous leap to clear the flying tim- 
ber, passed the other man in the last arrow-like rush, and 
dashed in an undoubted winner. 

The enthusiasm for him was now unmingled. The sen- 
sation of horror that many had felt on seeing him fall head 
downward during the race had given way to a keen ad- 
miration for his plucky attempt to catch up with such 
hopeless odds against him. There were old business 
men present whose hearts had not moved so briskly 
since the last financial panic as when the handicapped 
hero in azure leaped the last hurdle into glory. There 
were men looking on whose figures would never be re- 
deemed who, at the moment, felt convinced that with a 
little training they could once more run a good race — men 
whose livers were in a sad state and who certainly forgot 
the holy inspiration before rising that night from their late 
dinners. Surely if these old stagers could be thus moved, 
feminine hearts might be excused. It was not necessary 
to know Geoffrey personally to feel the contagious thrill 
that ran through the multitude at the vision of his prowess. 
The impulse and the verdict of the large crowd were so 
unanimous that no one could resist them. 

As for Margaret, she was, alas, standing on the seat by 
the time he raced past the carriage — a fair, earnest vision, 
lost in the excitement of the moment. With her gloved 
hands tightly closed and her arms braced as if for running, 
she appeared from her attitude as if she, too, would join 
in the race where her interest lay. The true woman in her 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


79 


was wild for her friend to win. Geoffrey’s appearance ap- 
pealed to all her sense of the beautiful. Knowledge of art 
led her to admire him— art of the ancient and vigorous type. 
All the plaudits that moved the multitude were caught up 
and echoed even more loudly within her. It was a dan- 
gerous moment for a virgin heart. As Geoffrey managed 
to land himself a winner against such desperate odds, she 
saw in his face, even before he had won, a half supercili- 
ous look of triumph and mastery that she had never seen 
there before. In a brief moment she caught a glimpse of 
the indomitable will that with him knew no obstacles — a 
will shown in a face of the ancient type, with gleaming 
eyes and dilated nostrils, heroic, god-like, possibly cruel, 
but instinct with victory and resolve. 

To her the triumph was undiluted. At the close of 
the race her lungs had refused to work until he passed the 
winning line, and then her breath came in a gasp, as she 
became conscious that her eyes were filled with tears of 
sympathy. 

With Nina it was different. That she was intensely 
interested is true. Everybody was. But, instead of that 
whirl of sympathetic admiration which Margaret felt, the 
strongest feeling she had was a desire that Geoffrey would 
come to her first, would lay, as it were, his honors at her 
feet — a wish suggesting the complacency with which the 
tigress receives the victor after viewing with interest the 
combat. 

When Geoffrey rejoined them half an hour afterward 
he was endeavoring to conceal an unmistakable lameness 
resulting from striking the hurdle in the race. He had 
had his leg bathed, which he afterward found had been 
bleeding freely, during the run, and had got into his flan- 
nels again. In the mean time a small circle of admirers 
had grouped themselves about the Dusenalls’ carriage. 

Jack had been in to see them for a moment with a 


8o 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


hymn of praise for Geoffrey on his lips, but Nina made 
him uncomfortable by treating him distantly, and, although 
Margaret beamed on him, he departed soon after Geof- 
frey’s arrival, making an excuse of his committee-man’s 
duties. 

Geoffrey noticed that, on his reappearing among them, 
Margaret did not address him, but left congratulations to 
Nina and the Dusenalls. In the interval after the race she 
had suddenly begun to consider how great her interest in 
Geoffrey was. She had known him for over a year. Dur- 
ing that time he had ever appeared at his best before her. 
It was so natural to be civilized and gentle in her pres- 
ence. And Margaret was not devoid of romance, in spite 
of her prosaic studies. Her ideality was not checked by 
them, but rather diverted into less ordinary channels, and 
she was as likely as anybody else to be captivated by some- 
body who, besides other qualities, could form a subject 
for her imaginative powers. Nevertheless, in spite of this 
sometimes dangerous and always charming ideality, she 
had acquired the habit of introspection which Mr. Mack- 
intosh had endeavored to cultivate in her. He told her 
that when she fell in love she “ would certainly know it.” 
And it was the remembrance of this sage remark that now 
caused her to be silent and thoughtful. She was wonder- 
ing whether she was going to fall in love with Geoffrey, 
and what it would be like if she did do so, and if she could 
know any more interest in him if it so turned out that 
she eventually became engaged to him. Then she looked 
at Geoffrey, intending to be impartial and judicial, and 
thought that his looks were not unpleasing, and that his 
banter with Miss Dusenall was not at all slow to listen to. 
She was pleased that he did not address her first. She 
felt that she might have been in some way embarrassed. 
Sometimes he glanced at her, as if carelessly, and yet she 
seemed to know that all his remarks were to amuse her. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


8l 


and that he watched her without looking at her. She had 
never thought of his doing this before. 

Bad Margaret ! Full of guilt ! 

Geoffrey was endeavoring to make the plainest Miss 
Dusenall fix the day for their wedding, declaring that it 
was she who had promised to marry him if he won at jump- 
ing with the pole, and that she alone had nerved him for the 
struggle, and he went on arranging the matter with a volu- 
bility and assurance which she would have resented in any- 
body else. She had affected to belittle Geoffrey some- 
what, not having been much troubled with his attentions, 
and she was conscious now that this banter on his part 
was detracting from her dignity. But what was she to 
do ? The man was the hero of the hour, and cared but 
little for her dignity and mincing ways. She would have 
snubbed him, only that he carried all the company on his 
side, and a would-be snub, when one’s audience does not 
appreciate it, returns upon one’s self with boomerang vio- 
lence. After all, it was something to monopolize the most 
admired man in six thousand people, even if he did make 
game of her and treat her like a child. 

As for Nina, she answered feebly the desultory re- 
marks of several young men who hung about the carriage, 
and she listened, while she looked at the contests, to one 
sound only — to the sound of Geoffrey’s voice. From time 
to time she put in a word to the other girls which showed 
that she heard everything he said. This sort of thing 
proved unsatisfactory to the young men who sought to en- 
gage her attention. They soon moved off, and then she 
gave herself up to the luxury of hearing Geoffrey speak. 
It might have been, she thought, that all his gayety was 
merely to attract Margaret, but none the less was his 
voice music to her. Poor Nina ! She would not look at 
him, for fear of betraying herself. She lay back in the 
carriage and vainly tried to think of her duty to Jack. 


82 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


Then she thought herself overtempted, not remembering 
the words : 

The devil tempts us not — ’tis we tempt him, 

Beckoning his skill with opportunity. 

This meeting, which to her was all bitter-sweet, to Geof- 
frey was piquant. To make an impression on the woman 
he really respected by addressing another he cared noth- 
ing about was somev/hat amusing to him, but to know that 
every word he said was being drunk in by a third woman 
who was as attractive as love itself and who was engaged 
to be married to another man added a flavor to the en- 
tertainment which, if not altogether new, seemed, in the 
present case, to be mildly pungent. 

After this Nina deceived herself less. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Come o’er the sea, 

Maiden with me. 

Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows. 
Seasons may roll, 

But the true soul 
Bums the same wherever it goes. 

Is not the sea 
Made for the free. 

Land for courts and chains alone ? 

Here we are slaves ; 

But on the waves 
Love and liberty’s all our own. 

Moore’s Melodies, 


Mr. Maurice Rankin was enjoying his summer va- 
cation. Although the courts were closed he still could be 
seen carrying his blue bag through the street on his way 
to and from the police court and other places. It is true 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


83 

that, for ordinary professional use, the bag might have 
been abandoned, but how was he to know when a sprat 
might catch a whale ? — to say nothing of the bag’s being so 
convenient for the secret and non-committal transporta- 
tion of those various and delectable viands that found their 
way to his aerial abode at No. 173 Tremaine Buildings. 
He was now provided by the law printers with pamphlet 
copies of the decisions in different courts, and a few of 
these might always be found in his bag. They served to 
fill out to the proper dimensions this badge of a rank en- 
titling him to the affix of esquire, and they had been 
well oiled by parcels of butter or chops which, on warm 
days, tried to lubricate this dry brain food as if for greater 
rapidity in the bolting of it. 

In this way he was passing his summer vacation. 
Many a time he thought of his father’s wealth before his 
failure and death. Where had those thousands melted 
away to ? Oh, for just one of the thousands to set him 
on his feet ! This perpetual grind, this endless seeking 
for work, with no more hope in it than to be able to get 
even with his butcher’s bill at the end of the month ! 
To see every person else go away for an outing somewhere 
while he remained behind began to make him dispirited. 
The buoyancy of his nature, which at first could take all 
his trials as a joke, was beginning to wear off. After 
yielding himself to their peculiar piquancy for six months, 
these jokes seemed to have lost their first freshness, and 
he longed to get away somewhere for a little change. The 
return, then, he thought, would be with renewed spirit. 

While thinking over these matters his step homeward 
was tired and slow. He was by no means robust, and his 
narrow face had grown more hatchety than ever in the 
last few hot days. Hope deferred was beginning to tell 
upon him, but a surprise awaited him. 

Jack Cresswell and Charley Dusenall were walking at 


84 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


this time on the other side of the street. They sighted 
Rankin going along gloomily, with his nose on the ground, 
well dressed and neat as usual, but weighted down, ap- 
parently with business, really with loneliness, law reports, 
and lamb-chops. 

They both pointed to him at once. Jack said, “The 
very man!” and Charlie said, nodding assent, ^‘Just as 
good as the next.” Jack clapped Charley on the back — 
“ By Jove, I hope he will come ! Do him all the good in 
the world.” 

Charley was one of those happy-go-lucky, loose-living 
young men who have companions as long as their money 
lasts, and who seem made of some transmutable material 
which, when all things are favorable, shows some sugges- 
tion of solidity, but, when acted upon by the acid of pov- 
erty, degenerates into something like that parasitic sub- 
stance remarkable for its receptibility of liquids, called a 
sponge. He liked Rankin, although he thought him a 
queer fish, and he would laugh with the others when Ran- 
kin’s quiet satire was pointed at himself, not knowing but 
that there might be a joke somewhere, and not wishing to 
be out of it. 

The two young men crossed the road and walked up 
to Rankin who was just about to enter Tremaine Build- 
ings. Charlie asked him to come on a yachting cruise 
around Lake Ontario — to be ready in two days — that 
Jack would tell him all about it, as he was in a hurry. 
He then made off, without waiting for Maurice to reply. 

Jack explained to Rankin that the yacht was to take 
out a party, with the young ladies under the chaperonage 
of Mrs. Dusenall, that the two Misses Dusenall, and Nina 
and Margaret were going, that he and Geoffrey Hamp- 
stead and two or three of the yacht-club men would lend a 
hand to work the craft, and that Rankin would be re- 
quired to take the helm during the dead calms. As Ran- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 85 

kin listened he brightened up and looked along the 
street in meditation. 

“ The business,” he said thoughtfully, “ will perish. 
Bean can’t run my business.” 

His large mouth spread over his face as he yielded 
himself to the warmth of the sunny vista before him. Al- 
ready he felt himself dancing over the waves. Suddenly, 
as they stood at the entrance to Tremaine Buildings, he 
caught Jack by the arm and whispered — so that clients 
thronging the streets might not overhear : 

“ The business,” he whispered. “ What about it ? 
He drew off at arm’s length and transfixed Jack with his 
eagle eye. Then, as if to typify his sudden and reckless 
abandonment of all the great trusts reposed in him, he 
slung the blue bag as far as he could up the stairs 
while he cried that the business might “ go to the devil.” 

“Correct,” said Jack. “It will be all safe with him. 
You know he is the father of lawyers. But I say, old 
chap, I am awfully glad you are coming with us. You 
see, the old lady has to get those girls married off some- 
how, and several fellows will go with us who are espe- 
cially picked out for the business. Then, of course, the 
Dusenall girls want ‘ backing,’ and they thought Nina and I 
could certainly give them a lead. And Nina would not 
go without Margaret. I rather think, too, that Geoffrey 
would not go without Margaret. Wheels within wheels, 
you see. Have you not got a lady-love, Morry, to bring 
along? No? Well, I tell you, old man, I expect to en- 
joy myself. I’ve been round that lake a good many, 
times, but never with Nina.” 

Jack blushed as he admitted so much to his old friend, 
and after a pause he went on, with a young man’s facile 
change of thought, to talk about the yacht. 

“And we will just make her dance, and don’t you 
forget it.” 


86 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


“ But, my dear fellow, won’t she object ? ” 

“Object? No — likes it. She is coming out in a 
brand-new suit. Wait till you see her. She’ll be a 
dandy.” 

“ I can quite believe that she will appear more beauti- 
ful than ever,” said Maurice, rather mystified. 

“ She is as clean as a knife, clean as a knife. I tell 
you, Morry, her shape just fills the eye. She — ” 

“Oh, yes, I understand. You are speaking of the 
yacht. I thought when you said you would make her dance 
that you referred to Miss Lindon. Excuse my ignorance 
of yachting terms. I know absolutely nothing about 
them.” 

“ Never mind, old man, you might easily make the 
mistake. Talking of dancing now, I had a turn with her 
the other day and I will say this much — that she can 
waltz and no mistake. You could steer her with one 
finger.” 

“ And shall we rig this spinnaker boom on her ? ” asked 
Rankin, with interest. “ What is a spinnaker boom ? I 
have always wanted to know.” 

“Spinnaker on who? or what?” cried Jack, looking 
vexed. “ Don’t be an ass, Rankin.” 

“ My dear fellow — a thousand pardons — I certainly 
presumed you still spoke of the yacht. It is perfectly im- 
possible to understand which you refer to.” 

“Well, perhaps it is,” replied Jack; “I mix the two 
up in my speech just as they are mixed up in my heart, 
and I love them both. So let us have a glass of sherry 
to them in my room.” 

“ I think,” said Rankin, smiling, with his head on one 
side, “ that to prevent further confusion we ought to drink 
a glass to each love separately, in order to discriminate 
sufficiently between the different interests.” 

“Happy thought,” said Jack. “And just like you 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


87 

robbers. Every interest must be represented. Fees out 
of the estate, every time.” 

After gulping down the first glass of sherry in the 
American fashion, they sat sipping the second as the 
Scotch and English do. It struck Rankin as peculiar that 
Mr, Lindon allowed Nina to go off on this yachting 
cruise when he must know that Jack would be on board. 
He asked him how he accounted for his luck in this 
respect. 

Jack said : “I can not explain it altogether to myself. 
The old boy sent her off to Europe to get her away from 
me, and that little manoeuvre was not successful in mak- 
ing her forget me. I think that now he has washed his 
hands of the matter, and lets her do entirely as she pleases 
— except as to matrimony. They don’t converse together 
on the subject of your humble servant. He is fond of 
Nina in his own way — when his ambition is not at stake. 
One thing I feel sure of, that we might wait till crack of 
doom before his consent to our marriage would be ob- 
tained. I never knew such a man for sticking to his own 
opinion.” 

“ But you could marry now and keep a house, in a 
small way,” said Rankin. 

‘‘ Too small a way for Nina. She knows no more of 
economy than a babe. No ; I may have been unwise, 
from a practical view, to fall in love with her, but the af- 
fair must go on now ; we will get married some way or 
other. Perhaps the old boy will die. At any rate, al- 
though I have no doubt she would go in for Move in a 
cottage,’ I don’t think it would be right of me to subject 
her to the loss of her carriage, servants, entertainments, 
and gay existence generally. Of course she would be 
brave over it, but the effort would be very hard upon the 
dear little woman.” 

When Jack thought of Nina his heart was apt to lose 


88 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


some of its chronometer movement. He turned and began 
fumbling for his pipe. 

Maurice wished to pull him together, as it were, and 
said, as he grasped the decanter and filled the wine glasses 
again : 

“ Thank you ; I don’t mind if I do. Now I come to 
think of it, your first proposed toast was the right one. 
For the next three weeks at least we do not intend to 
separate the lady from the yacht. Why should we drink 
them separately ? Ho, ho ! we will drink to them collect- 
ively ! ” He waved his glass in the air. “ Here’s to The 
Lady and the Yacht considered as one indivisible duo. 
May they be forever as entwined in our hearts as they are 
incomprehensibly mixed up in our language ! ” 

“ Flear, hear ! ” cried Jack, with renewed spirit. “ Drink 
hearty ! ” And then he energetically poured out another, 
and said “Tiger! ” — after which they lit cigars and went 
out, feeling happy and much refreshed, while Rankin 
quite forgot the blue bag and the contents thereof yielding 
rich juices to the law-reports in the usual way. 

About ten o’clock on the following Saturday morning 
valises were being stowed away on board the yacht Ideal, 
and maidens fair and sailors free were aglow with the ex- 
citement of departure. The yacht was swinging at her 
anchor while the new cruising mainsail caused her to 
careen gently as the wind alternately caught each side of 
the snowy canvas. A large blue ensign at the peak was 
flapping in the breeze, impatient for the start, while the 
main-sheet bound down and fettered the plunging and 
restless sail. Lounging about the bows of the vessel were 
a number of professional sailors with Ideal worked across 
the breasts of their stout blue jerseys. The headsails 
were loosed and ready to go up, and the patent windlass 
was cleared to wind up the anchor chain. Away aloft at 
the topmast head the blue peter was promising more ad- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


89 


ventures and a new enterprise, while grouped about the 
cockpit were our friends in varied garb, some of whom 
nervously regarded the plunging mainsail which refused 
to be quieted. Rankin was the last to come over the 
side, clad in a dark-blue serge suit, provided at short 
notice by the long-suffering Score. His leather portman- 
teau, lent by Jack, had scarcely reached the deck before 
the blocks were hooked on and the gig was hoisted in to 
the davits. Margaret, sitting on the bulwarks, with an 
arm thrown round a backstay to steady her, was taking 
in all the preparations with quiet ecstasy, her eyes follow- 
ing every movement aloft and her lips softly parted with 
sense of invading pleasure. 

Mrs. Dusenall was down in the after-cabin making 
herself more busy than useful. Instead of leaving every- 
thing to the steward, the good woman was unpacking sev- 
eral baskets which had found their way aft by mistake. 
In a very clean locker devoted solely to charts she stowed 
away five or six pies, wedging them, thoughtfully, with a 
sweet melon to keep them quiet. Then she found that 
the seats at the side could be raised, and here she placed 
a number of articles where they stood a good chance of 
slipping under the floor and never being seen again. For- 
tunately for the party, her pride in her work led her to 
point out what she had done to the steward, who, speech- 
less with dismay, hastily removed everything eatable from 
her reach. 

As the anchor left its weedy bed, the brass carronade 
split the air in salute to the club and the blue ensign 
dipped also, while the headsail clanked and rattled up 
the stay. There was nobody at the club house, but 
the ladies thought that the ceremony of departure was 
effective. 

Jack was at the wheel as she paid off on the starboard 
tack toward the eastern channel, and Geoffrey and others 


90 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


were slacking off the main«sheet when Rankin heard him- 
self called by Jack, who said hurriedly : 

“ Morry, will you let go that lee-backstay ? ” 

Maurice and Margaret left it immediately and stood 
aside. Jack forgot, in the hurry of starting, that Rankin 
knew nothing of sailing, and called louder to him again, 
pointing to the particular rope : “ Let go that lee-back- 
stay.” 

“ Who's touching your lee-backstay ? ” cried Morry in- 
dignantly. 

The boom was now pressing strongly on the stay, 
while Jack, seeing his mistake, leaned over and showed 
Rankin what to do. He at once cast off the rope from 
the cleat, and, there being a great strain on it, the end of 
it when loosed flew through his fingers so fast that it felt 
as if red hot. 

“ Holy Moses ! ” cried he, blowing on his fingers, 
“that rope must have been lying on the stove.” He ex- 
amined the rope again, and remarked that it was quite 
cool now. The pretended innocence of the little man 
was deceiving. The Honorable Marcus Travers Head, 
one of the rich intended victims of the Dusenalls, leaned 
over to Jack and asked who and what Rankin was. 

“ He’s an original — that's what he is,” said Jack, with 
some pride in his friend, although Rankin’s by-play was 
really very old. 

“ What ! ain’t he soft ? ” inquired the Hon. M. T., with 
surprise. 

“About as soft as that brass cleat,” said Jack shortly. 
“ I say, old Emptyhead, you just keep your eye open 
when he’s around and you’ll learn something.” 

There was a murmur of “ Ba-a Jeuve ! ” and the honor- 
able gentleman regarded Rankin in a new light. 

The Ideal was a sloop of more than ordinary size, 
drawing about eight feet of water without the small center- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


91 


board, which she hardly required for ordinary sailing. Her 
accommodations were excellent, and her internal fittings 
were elegant, without being so wildly expensive as in some 
of the American yachts. Her comparatively small draught 
of water enabled her to enter the shallow ports on the lakes, 
and yet she was modeled somewhat like a deep-draught 
boat, having some of her ballast bolted to her keel, like the 
English yachts. Her cruising canvas was bent on short 
spars, which relieved the crew in working her, but, even 
with this reduction, her spread of canvas was very large, 
so that her passage across the bay toward the lake was one 
of short duration. 

To Margaret and Maurice the spirited start which they 
made was one of unalloyed delight. For two such fresh 
souls “ delight ” is quite the proper word. They crossed 
over to the weather side and sat on the bulwarks, where 
they could command a view of the whole boat. It was a 
treat for all hands to see their bright faces watching the man 
aloft cast loose the working gaff-topsail. When they heard 
his voice in the sky calling out “ Hoist away,” Morry 
waved his hand with abando7i and called out also “ Hoist 
away,” as if he would hoist away and overboard every care 
he knew of, and when the booming voice aloft cried 
‘‘ Sheet home,” it was as good as five dollars to see Mar- 
garet echo the word with commanding gesture — only she 
called it Sea foam,” which made the sailors turn their 
quids and snicker quietly among themselves. But when 
the huge cream-colored jib-topsail went creaking musically 
up from the bowsprit-end, filling and bellying and thun- 
dering away to leeward, and growing larger and larger as 
it climbed to the topmast head, their admiration knew no 
bounds. As the sail was trimmed down, they felt the 
good ship get her ^‘second wind,” as it were, for the rush 
out of the bay. It was as if sixteen galloping horses had 
been suddenly harnessed to the boat, and Margaret fairly 


92 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


clapped her hands. Maurice called to Jack approv- 
ingly : 

“ You said you would make her dance.” 

“She’s going like a scalded pup,” cried Jack poeti- 
cally in reply, and he held her down to it with the wheel, 
tenderly but firmly, as he thereby felt the boat’s pulse. 
When they came to the eastern channel Jack eased her up 
so close to the end of the pier that Maurice involuntarily 
retreated from the bulwarks for fear she would hit the cor- 
ner. The jib-topsail commenced to thunder as the yacht 
came nearer the wind, but this was soon silenced, and half 
a dozen men on the main-sheet flattened in the after-can- 
vas as she passed between the crib-work at the sides of 
the channel in a way that gave one a fair opportunity for 
judging her speed. 

A moment more and the Ideal was surging along the 
lake swells, as if she intended to arrive “ on time ” at any 
place they pointed her for. The main-sheet was paid out 
as Jack bore away to take the compass course for Cobourg. 
This put the yacht nearly dead before the wind, and the 
pace seemed to moderate. Charlie Dusenall then came 
on deck, after settling his dunnage below and getting into 
his sailing clothes. Charlie had been “ making a night of 
it” previous to starting, and felt this morning indisposed 
to exert himself. Jack and he had cruised together in all 
weathers, and they were both good enough sailors to dis- 
pense with pig-headed sailing-masters. Jack had sailed 
everything, from a birch-bark canoe to a schooner of 
two hundred tons, and had never lost his liking for a good 
deal of hard work on board a boat. As for his garb, an 
old flannel shirt and trousers that greased masts could not 
spoil were all that either he or Charlie ever wore. These, 
with the yachting shoes, broad Scotch bonnet, belt, and 
sheath-knife, were found sufficient, without any finical 
white jackets and blue anchors, and, if not so fresh as 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


93 

they might have -been, these garments certainly looked like 
business. 

Before young Dusenall put his head up the companion- 
way he knew exactly where the boat was by noticing her 
motions while below. There was something of the “ old 
salt ” in the way he understood how the yacht was run- 
ning without coming on deck to find out. Generally he 
could wake up at night and tell you how the boat was 
sailing, and almost what canvas she was carrying, without 
getting out of his berth. These things had become a sort 
of second nature. 

He was yawning as he hauled on a stout chain and 
dragged up from his trousers pocket a silver watch about 
the size of a mud-turtle. Then he looked at the wake 
through the long following waves and glanced rapidly over 
the western horizon while he counted with his finger upon 
the face of the enormous timepiece. “ We will have to do 
better than this,” he said, after making a calculation, ^‘if 
we wish to dance at the Arlington to-night.” 

‘‘ They are just getting the spinnaker on deck,” said 
Jack, nodding toward the bows. “ As you say, it won’t 
do her any harm. This breeze will flatten out at sun- 
down, and walloping about in a dead calm all night is no 
fun.” 

“ What a time they take to get a sail set ! ” said Charlie 
impatiently, as he looked at the sailors for a few moments. 

I have a good mind to ask some of you fellows to go for- 
ward and show them how.” 

“ Oh, never mind,” said Jack, “ We are not racing, 
and hurrying them only makes them sulky.” 

But Charlie’s nerves were a little irritable to-day, and 
he swung himself on deck and went forward. A long 
boom was lowered out over the side and properly guyed ; 
then a long line of sail, tied in stops, went up and up to 
the topmast-head ; the foot of it was hauled out to the 


94 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


end of the boom ; then there was a pull on a rope, and, as 
the wind broke away the stops, hundreds of yards of sail 
spread out as if by magic to the breeze, filling away for- 
ward like a huge three-cornered balloon, the foot of which 
almost swept the surface of the water. 

“Look at that for a sail, Nina.” said Jack. “Now 
you’ll see her git right up and git.” 

When Jack was talking about yachts or sailing it was 
next to impossible for him to speak in anything but a 
jargon of energetic slang and metaphor picked up among 
the sailors, who, in their turn, picked up all they could 
while ashore. He seemed to take a pleasure in throwing 
the English grammar overboard. His heart warmed to 
sailors. He was fond of their oddities and forcible un- 
polished similes ; and when he sometimes sought their so- 
society for a while, he was well received. When a man in 
good clothes begins to talk sailing grammatically to lake- 
sailors they seem to feel that he is not, as far as they can 
see, in any way up to the mark. His want of accuracy in 
sailing vernacular attaches to his whole character. 

If Jack intended to say that the spinnaker would make 
the Ideal go fast, he was right. She was traveling down 
the lake almost as fast as she would go in a race with the 
same breeze. A long thin line of fine white bubbles ex- 
tending back over the tops of several blue waves showed 
where her keel had divided the waten and rubbed it into 
white powder as she passed. Jack had no time for con- 
tinued conversation now. He had to watch his compass 
and the sails, the wind, and the land. He did not wish the 
wake behind the vessel to look like a snake-fence from bad 
steering, and to get either of the sails aback, while under 
such a pressure, would be a pretty kettle of fish. He was 
enjoying himself. Some good Samaritan handed him a 
pipe filled and lighted, and with his leg slung comfort- 
ably over the shaft of the wheel, his pipe going, Nina in 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


95 

front of him, and all his friends around him, he felt that 
the moment could hardly be improved. 

Some time after the buildings of Toronto had dwin- 
dled away to nothing, and the thin spire of St. James’s 
Cathedral had become a memory, the steward announced 
that luncheon was ready. One of the hands relieved 
Jack at the wheel, and all went below except Mrs. Duse- 
nall, who was left lying among cushions and pillows ar- 
ranged comfortably on deck, where she preferred to re- 
main, as she was feeling the motion of the boat. 

Luncheon was a movable feast on the Ideal — as liable 
to be shifted about as the hands of a wayward clock. 
The cabin was prettily decorated with flowers, and the 
table, weighted so as to remain always horizontal, was 
covered with snowy linen and delicate glass, while a small 
conceit full of cut flowers faced each of the guests. The 
steward and stewardess buzzed about with bottles and 
plates, and any appetite that could not have been tempted 
must have been in a bad way. The absence of that apol- 
ogy for a chaperon, who was trying to enjoy the breezes 
overhead, gave the repast an informality which the prim- 
ness of the Misses Dusenall soon failed to check, although 
at first their precise intonations and carefully copied Eng- 
lish accent did something to restrain undue hilarity on the 
part of those who did not know them well. 

The idea of being able to entertain in this style gave 
the Misses Dusenall an inflation which at first showed 
itself in a conversation and manner touchingly English. 
The average English maiden, though by nature sufficiently 
insular in manner and speech, is taught to be more so. 
The result is that among strangers she rarely seems quite 
certain of herself, as if anxious lest she should wreck her- 
self on a slip of the tongue or the sounding of a false 
note. Her prudish manners and her perfect knowledge 
of what not to say often suggest Swift’s definition of “ a 


96 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


nice man.’' One trembles to think what effect the eman- 
cipation of marriage will have upon some of these wildly 
innocent creatures. In Canada, and especially in the 
United States, we are thankful to take some things for 
granted, without the advertisement of a manner which 
seems to say : ‘‘ I am so awfully pure and carefully brought 
up, don’t you know.” 

The Misses Dusenall on this occasion soon found 
themselves in a minority (not the minority of Matthew 
Arnold), and before leaving the table they adopted some 
of that more genial manner and speech which, if slightly 
faulty, we are satisfied to consider as good enough for 
the colonies.” 

Maurice seemed to expand as the English fog gradu- 
ally lifted. The aged appearance that anxiety was giving 
him had disappeared. Amid the chatter going on, in 
which it was difficult to get an innings. Jack Cresswell 
seized a bottle of claret and called out that he proposed a 
toast. 

“ What ? toasts at such an informal luncheon as this, 
Jack?” exclaimed Propriety, with the accent somewhat 
worn off. 

“What’s the odds as long as you’re happy and the 
^rosy’ is close at hand?” said Jack. “Besides, this is a 
case of necessity — ” 

“ I propose that we have a series of toasts,” interrupted 
Charlie, who was beginning to feel himself again. 

“With all their necessary subdivisions,” added Ran- 
kin, in his incisive little voice, which could always make 
itself heard. 

“ There you are again, Rankin,” cried Jack. “ I pro- 
posed a toast with Rankin two days ago, ladies, and, as I 
live by bread, he subdivided it sixteen times.” 

Dusenall was calling for a bottle of Seltzer water. 

“ Never mind your soda,” commanded Jack. “Soda 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


97 

can't do justice to this toast. I propose this toast because 
I regard it as one of absolute necessity — ” 

“ They all are," called Maurice. 

Gentlemen, I must protest against my learned friend’s 
interrup — ’’ 

“ Go on. Jack. Don't protest. Propose. I am getting 
thirsty," cried Hampstead’s voice among a number of others. 

“ Well, gentlemen, am I to proceed or not ? Have I 
the floor, or not ? " 

“ That’s just what he said after those sixteen horns," 
said Rankin, addressing the party confidentially. “ Only, 
then he did not * have the floor,’ the floor had him." 

His absurdity increased the hubbub, as Jack rapped on 
the table to command attention. 

“ The toast I am about to propose is one of absolute 
neces — " 

“ Oh, my ! ’’ groaned Rankin, ‘‘ give me something in 
the mean time." He grasped a bottle, as if in desperation. 
“ All right, now. Go on, Jack. Don’t mind me." 

The orator went on, smiling : 

“ It is, as I think I have said before, one of absolute — ’* 

Here the disturbance threatened to put an end to the 
proposed toast. 

Take a new deal.” 

Got any more toasts like this ? ” 

“ Oh, I would like a smoke soon. Hurry up, Jack." 

“ Well, ladies and gentlemen," said Jack, banging on 
the table to quell the tumult ; “ I will skip over the ob- 
jectionable words, and propose that we drink to the health 
of one who has been unable to be with us to-day, and who 
needs our assistance ; who perhaps at this moment is suf- 
fering untold troubles far from our midst. Ladies and gen- 
tlemen, have you charged your glasses ? ’’ 

Answers of “ Frequently." 

Well, then," said Jack, as he stood with a bottle in 
7 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


98 

one hand and a glass in the other, “ I ask you to drink 
with me to the health of ‘ The Chaperon,' who is nigh 
unto death.” 

All stood up, and were loudly echoing, “The Chaperon 
— nigh unto death ! ” when along hand came down the sky- 
light overhead and a voice was heard from on high, saying : 

“ Nothing of the kind. How dare you, you bad boy ? 
Just put something into my hand and I'll drink my own 
health. I don’t need your assistance at all.” 

Cheers broke out from the noisy gathering, and they 
all rushed on deck to see Mrs. Dusenall drink her own 
health, which she bravely accomplished. 

They were a riotous lot. All the boat wanted was a 
policeman to keep them in something more like order, for 
a small joke received too much credit with them, and they 
laughed too easily. 

Frenchman's Bay and Whitby were passed before they 
came up from lunch. Oshawa could be seen far away on 
the shore, as the yacht buzzed along with unabated speed. 
A speck on the horizon had risen up out of the sea to be 
called Raby Head — the sand-bluff near Darlington. Small 
yellow and green squares on the far-off brown uplands that 
rolled back from the shores denoted that there were farms 
in that vicinity ; dark-blue spots, like feathery tufts, ap- 
peared here and there where the timber forests had been 
left untouched, and among them small marks or lines of 
white would occasionally appear where, on looking through 
the glasses, little railway trains seemed to be toiling like 
ants across the landscape. 

There was no ceremony to be observed, nor could it 
be seen that anybody endeavored to keep up conversations 
which required any effort. The men, lounging about on 
the white decks, seemed to smoke incessantly while they 
watched the water hissing along the sides of the vessel, or 
lay on their backs and watched the masthead racing with 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


99 


the white clouds down the lake, and the girls, disposed 
on cushions, tried to read novels and failed. The sudden 
change to the fresh breezes of the lake, and the long but 
spirited rise and fall of the vessel made them soon doze 
away, or else remain in that peaceful state of mind which 
does not require books or masculine society or music, or 
anything else except a continuation of things just as they 
are. Granby and Newcastle were mentioned as the yacht 
passed by, but most of the party were drowsy, and few even 
raised their heads to see what little could be seen. Port 
Hope created but feeble interest, though the Gull Light, 
perched on the rocks far out in the lake, appeared ro- 
mantic and picturesque. It seemed like true yachting 
to be approaching a strange light-house sitting like a 
white seabird on the dangerous-looking reefs, where the 
waves could be seen dashing up white and frothy. 

Somewhere off Port Hope, about three or four miles 
away from the “ Gull,” one of the sailors had quietly re- 
marked to the man at the wheel : 

“We’re a-goin’ to run out of the wind.” 

Margaret was interested in this, wondering how the 
man knew. Far away in front and to the eastward could 
be seen a white haze that obliterated the horizon, and, as 
the yacht bore down to the Gull Light, one could see that 
beyond a certain defined line stretching across the lake 
the bright sparkle and blueness of the waves ceased, and, 
beyond, was a white heaving surface of water, without a 
ripple on it to mark one distance from another. It seemed 
strange that the wind blowing so freshly directly toward 
this calm portion of the lake should not ruffle it. The 
yacht went straight on before the wind at the same pace 
till she crossed the dividing line and passed with her own 
velocity into the dead air on the other side. The sails, 
out like wings, seemed at once to fill on the wrong side, 
as if the breeze had come ahead, and this stopped her 


lOO 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


headway. She soon came to a standstill. Every person 
at once awoke — feeling some of that numbness experienced 
in railway trains when, after running forty miles an hour 
for some time, the brakes are suddenly put on. 

For half an hour the yacht lay within pistol-shot of the 
dancing, sparkling waves, where the breeze blew straight 
toward them, as far as the mysterious dividing line, and 
then disappeared. The spinnaker was taken in, and the 
yacht, regardless of the helm, “ walloped ” about in all 
directions, as the swells, swashing against the bow, or 
pounding under the counter, turned her around. This 
was unpleasant, and might last all night, if ‘‘the calm beat 
back the wind,” as the sailors say, so Charley sent out the 
crew in the two boats, which were lowered from the davits, 
to tow the yacht into Cobourg, now about three miles 
away. The mainsheet was hauled flat aft to keep the main- 
boom quiet, and soon she had steerage way on. 

To insure fine weather at home one must take out an 
umbrella and a water-proof. On the water, for a dead 
calm, sending the boats out to tow the yacht is as good as 
a patent medicine. Before very long the topsail seemed 
to have an inclination to fill on one side more than on the 
other, so one boat was ordered back and a club-gaff-top- 
sail used in races was sent aloft to catch the breath mov- 
ing in the upper air. This sail had huge spars on it that 
set a sail reaching a good twenty- five feet above the top- 
mast head, and about the same distance out from the end 
of the gaff. It was no child’s-play getting it up, and the 
sailors’ chorus as they took each haul at the halyards at- 
tracted some attention. Perhaps no amateur can quite 
successfully give that break in the voice peculiar to a pro- 
fessional sailor when hauling heavily on a rope. And 
then the interjections : 

“ 0-ho ! H’ister up,” 

“Oh-ho! Up she goes,” 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. lOi 

0-ho ! R-Raise the dead,” 

“ Now-then-all-together-and-carry- away- the- mast, O- 
ho ! ” etc. 

Some especial touches were put on to-day for the 
benefit of the ladies, and when the man aloft wished 
those on deck to “ sheet home ” the big topsail, the rascal 
looked down at Margaret and called “ sea foam ! ” In 
the forecastle she was called Sea Foam ” during the 
whole trip, not because she wore a dress of cricketing 
flannel, but on account of her former mistake in the 
words. To Rankin and some others who saw the little 
joke, the idea seemed poetical and appropriate. 

Not more than a breath of wind moved aloft — none at 
all below — but it proved sufficient to send the yacht along, 
and about half-past six in the evening they slipped in to 
an anchor at Cobourg, fired a gun, and had dinner. 


CHAPTER IX. 

Ah, what pleasant visions haunt me 
As I gaze upon the sea I 

All the old romantic legends, 

All my dreams, come back to me. 

Sails of silk and ropes of sendal, 

Such as gleam in ancient lore ; 

And the singing of the sailors. 

And the answer from the shore. 

Till my soul is full of longing 
For the secret of the sea. 

And the heart of the great ocean 

Sends a thrilling pulse through me. 

Longfellow. 


Nothing tends to convince us of the element of chance 
in our lives more than noticing the consequences of whims. 


102 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


We act and react upon each other, after joining in a move- 
ment, till its origin is forgotten and lost. A politician 
conceives a whim to dazzle a fighting people with a war, 
and the circumstances of thousands are unexpectedly and 
irretrievably altered. We map out our lives for ourselves, 
and propose to adhere to the chart, but on considering 
the effects of chance, one’s life often seems like an island 
upheaved from the sea, on which the soil, according to its 
character, fructifies or refuses the seeds that birds and 
breezes accidentally bring. 

Our yachting cruise seemed to be like this. One even- 
ing when Nina was dining at the Dusenalls’, Charley 
had proposed the trip in an idle sort of way. Nina 
fastened on the idea, and during little talks with Mrs. 
Dusenall, induced her to see that it might be advan- 
tageous for her daughters to make a reality of the vague 
proposal. 

In thus providing opportunity for sweet temptation, 
Nina was not deceiving herself so much as formerly, and 
she knew that her feeling for Geoffrey was deep and strong. 
But she would morally bind herself to the rigging and 
sail on without trouble while she listened to the song as 
well. Would not Jack be with her always to serve as a 
safeguard.^ Dear Jack! So fond of Jack! Of course 
it would be all right. And then, to be with Geoffrey all 
the time for two or three weeks ! or, if not with him, near 
enough to hear his voice ! After all, she could not be 
any more in love with him than she was then. Where 
was the harm ? 

Margaret’s presence on the yacht, if at times rather 
trying, would certainly make an opening for excitement, 
and, on the whole, it would be more comfortable to have 
both Geoffrey and Margaret on the yacht than to leave 
them in Toronto together. This friendship between 
them — what did it amount to ? She had a desire to 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


103 

know all about it — as we painfully pull the cot off a hurt 
finger, just to see how it looks. 

For Geoffrey the trip promised to be interesting, and, 
having in the early days examined Cupid’s armory with 
some curiosity, he tried to persuade himself that the archer’s 
shafts were for him neither very keen nor very formida- 
ble. As Davidge used to say, “ too much familiarity 
breeds despisery,” and up to this time of his life it had 
not seemed possible for him to care for any one very de- 
votedly — not even himself. Yet Margaret Mackintosh, he 
thought, was the one woman who could be permanently 
trusted with his precious future. No one less valuable 
could be the making of him. He agreed with the 
Frenchman in saying that “of all heavy bodies, the 
heaviest is the woman we have ceased to love,” and he 
hoped when married to be able to feel some of that 
respect and trust which make things different from the 
ordinary French experience. But when he thought of 
Margaret as his wife the thought was vague, and not so 
full of purpose as some of his other schemes. The mental 
picture of Margaret sitting near him by the fireside keep- 
ing up a bright chatter, or else playing Beethoven to 
him, the music sounding at its best through the puff-puff 
of a contemplative pipe, had not altogether dulled his 
appreciation of those pleasures of the chase, as he called 
them, over which he had wasted so much of his time. 
Moreover, he felt that it was altogether a toss-up whether 
she would accept him or not, and that he did not appeal 
to her quite in the same way that he did to other women. 
This threw his hand out. If he wished her to marry him 
at any time, he thought he would have to put his best foot 
foremost, and tread lightly where the way seemed so pre- 
carious. He knew that she liked him very much as she 
would a work of art. It was a good thing to have a tall 
figure and clean-cut limbs, but it seemed almost pathetic 


104 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


to be ranked, as it were, with old china, no matter how 
full of soul the willow-pattern might be. 

Now that Nina had fairly commenced the yachting 
cruise, she could be pleasant and jolly with Jack on 
board the boat, but when it came to leaving the ball-room 
at the Arlington for a little promenade with him on the 
verandas, the idea seemed slow and uninviting. After a 
dance. Jack moved away with her, intending to saunter 
out through one of the low windows. 

“ Don’t you think it is pleasanter in here ? ” she said. 

“ Well, I find it a little warm here, don’t you ? Be- 
sides the moon is shining outside, and we can get a fine 
view of the lake from the end of the walk.” 

‘^But, my dear Jack, have we not been enjoying a fine 
view of the lake all day? You see I don’t want every 
person to think that we can not be content unless we are 
mooning off together in some dark corner. It does not 
look well ; now, does it ? ” 

Jack raised his eyebrows. “ I did not think you were 
so very careful of Mrs. Grundy. When did you turn over 
the new leaf? I suppose the idea did not occur to you 
that being out with Geoffrey for two or three dances 
might also excite comment.” 

Nina had already surveyed the lake to some extent 
during the evening under pleasing auspices, but she did 
not like being reminded of it, and answered hotly : 

“ How, then, do you expect me to enjoy going to look 
at the lake again ? I have seen the lake three times al- 
ready this evening, and no person has made me feel that 
there was any great romance in the surroundings. Surely 
you don’t think that you would conjure up the romance, 
do you ? ” 

“ Evidently I would not be able to do that for you,” 
said Jack slowly, while he thought how different her feel- 
ings were from his own. It galled him to have it placed 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


105 

before him how stale he had become to her. He con- 
quered his rising anger, and said : 

“ I am afraid that our engagement had become very 
prosaic to you.'' 

“ Horribly so,” said Nina. “ It all seems just as if 
we were married. Not quite so bad, though, because I 
suppose I would then have to be civil. What a bore! 
Fancy having to be civil continually 1 ” 

“I believe that a fair amount of civility is consid- 
ered — ” 

“ Oh, you need not tell me what our married life will 
be. I know all about it. Mutual resignation and endear- 
ing nothings. Church on Sundays; wash on Mondays. 
It will be respectable and meritorious and virtuous and 
generally unbearable — ” 

Hush, hush, Nina 1 Why do you talk in this strain ? 
Why do you go out of your way to say unkind things ? I 
know you do not mean a quarter of what you say. If I 
thought you did I — ” 

“ Was I saying unkind things ? ” interrupted Nina. “ I 
did not think of their being unkind. It seems natural 
enough to look at things in this way.” 

She was endeavoring now to neutralize her hasty 
words by softer tones, and she only made matters worse. It 
is difficult to climb clear of the consciousness of our own 
necessities when it envelops us like a fog, obscuring the 
path. In some way a good deal of what she said to Jack 
now seemed tinged with the wrong color, and out of the 
effort to be pleasant had begun to grow a distaste for his 
presence. Much as she still liked him, she always tried 
during this cruise to get into the boat or into the party 
where Jack was not. 

It had been his own proposal that she should see a 
good deal of Hampstead, and so it never occurred to him 
to be jealous ; and afterward she became more crafty in 


I 06 GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 

blinding his eyes to the real cause of the dissatisfaction 
she now expressed. While in Jack’s presence her man- 
ner toward Geoffrey was studiously off-hand and friendly. 
Whatever her manner might be when they strolled off 
together, it was certain that an understanding existed 
between the two to conceal from Jack whatever inter- 
est they might have in one another. She was forced to 
think continuously of Geoffrey so that every other train 
of thought sank into insignificance, and was crowded out. 
A colder person, with temptation infinitely less, would 
have done what was right and would have captured the 
world’s approbation. It would do harm to examine too 
closely the natures of many saints of pious memory and 
to be obliged to paint out their accustomed halo. If the 
convicted are ever more richly endowed than the social 
arbiters, they are different and not understood, and there- 
fore judged. No sin is so great as that which we our- 
selves are not tempted to commit. Ignorance either dei- 
fies or spits upon what can not be understood. But, after 
all, we must have some standard, some social tribunal ; 
and social wrong, no matter how it is looked at, must be 
prevented, no matter how well we understand that some 
are, as regards social law, made crooked. 

But let us hasten more slowly. 

Sunday morning, strangely enough, followed the Sat- 
urday night which had been spent at the Arlington. The 
daylight of Sunday followed about two hours after the last 
man coaxed himself to his berth from the yacht’s deck and 
the tempting night. When all the others were fairly off in 
a solid sleep, as if wound up for twenty-four hours, one 
individual arrived at partial consciousness and wondered 
where he was. A sensation of pleasure pervaded him. 
Something new and enjoyable lay before him, but he 
could not make up his mind what it was. That he was 
not in 173 Tremaine Buildings seemed certain. If not 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


107 


there, where was he ? To fully consider the matter he sat 
up in his berth and gave his head a thump on a beam 
overhead, which conveyed some intelligence to him. 
Then, lying back on the pillow, he laughed and rubbed 
his poll. “A lubber’s mistake,” quoth he; and then, 
after a little, “ I wonder what it’s like outside ? ” A lanky 
figure in a long white garment was presently to be seen 
stumbling up the companion-way, and a head appeared 
above the deck with hair disheveled looking like a sleepy 
bird of prey. All around it was so still that nothing could 
be heard but some one snoring down below. The yacht 
lay with her anchor-chain nowhere — a thread would have 
held her in position. The boats behind were lying mo- 
tionless with their bows under the yacht’s counter, drawn 
up there by the weight of their own painters lying in the 
water. Maurice gazed about the little wharf-surrounded 
harbor with curiosity and artistic pleasure. It could only 
have been this and the feeling of gladness in him that 
made him interested in the lumber-piles and railway-der- 
ricks about him, but it was all so new and strange to 
him. “ Gad ! to be off like this, on a yacht, and to live 
on board, you know ! ” said he, talking to himself, as he 
hoisted himself up by his arms and sat on the top of the 
sliding hatchway. He moved away soon after sitting 
down, because of about half an inch of cold dew on 
the hatch. This awakened him completely. He walked 
gingerly toward the stern and looked at the blaze of 
red and gold in the eastern sky where the sun was 
making a triumphal entry. Then he walked to the bow 
and watched the light gild the masts of the lumber- 
schooners and the fog-bank over the lake, and the carcass 
of a drowned dog floating close at hand. He saw bits of 
the shore beyond the town and wanted to go there. He 
wanted to inspect the little squat light-house that shone 
in its reflected glory better than it ever shone at night. 


io8 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


Yes, he must see all these things. It was all fairyland to 
him. The gig was carefully pulled alongside when, happy 
thought ! a smoke would be just the thing. The weird 
figure dived down, for pipe, matches, and “ ’baccy,” and 
soon came up smiling. “ Never knew anything so quiet 
as this,” he said, as he filled the pipe. The snore below 
seemed to be the only note typical of the scene — not very 
musical, perhaps, but eloquent and artistically correct. 

He had not gone far in the gig when he came across 
the picturesque drowned dog. Really it would be too bad 
to allow this to remain where it was, even though gilded. 
The sun would get up higher, and then there would be 
no poetry about it, but only plain dog. So he went back 
to the deck and saw a boat-hook. That would do well 
enough to remove the eyesore wuth, but how could he 
row and hold the boat-hook at the same time ? If he 
only had a bit of string, now, or a piece of rope ! But 
these articles are not to be found on a well-kept deck, 
and it would not be right to wake up anybody. Happy 
thought ! He took the pike-pole and rowed rapidly 
toward the dog, and, as he passed it, dropped the oars 
and grabbed the dog with the end of the pike-pole. His 
idea was that the momentum of the boat would, by re- 
peated efforts, remove the dog. But the deceased was not 
to be coaxed in this way from the little harbor where he 
had so peacefully floated for four weeks. So Maurice, 
after suffering in the contest, went on board again. Still 
the snore below went on, and still nobody got up to help 
him. He searched the deck for any part of the rigging 
that would suit him, determined to cut away as much as 
he wanted of whatever came first. Ah ! the signal hal- 
yards ! He soon had about two hundred feet unrove, 
little recking of the man who had to “ shin up ” to the 
topmast-head to reeve the line again. The dog must go. 
That Margaret’s eyes should not be insulted was so set- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


109 


tied in his chivalrous little head that — well, in fact, the 
dog would have to go, and, if not by hook or by crook, he 
finally went lassoed a good two hundred feet behind, 
Rankin rowing lustily. 

After this object had been committed to the deep, a 
seagull came and lighted on a floating plank to consider 
the situation, and gave a cry that could be heard a vast 
distance. Maurice rowed out about half a mile into the 
lake, and then could be seen a lithe figure diving in over 
the side of the boat and disporting itself, which uttered 
cries like a peacock when it came to the surface, and in- 
terested the lethargic seagulls. 

While he was doing this the fog bank slowly moved 
in from the lake and enveloped him, so that he began to 
wonder where the shore was. He got into the boat, with- 
out taking the trouble to don his garment, and rowed 
toward the place where he thought the shore was. Half 
an hour’s rowing brought him back to some driftwood 
which he had noticed before, so he gave up rowing in cir- 
cles, put on the garment, settled himself in the stern-sheets, 
and lit a pipe. The air was warm, and a gentle motion 
in the lake rocked him comfortably, until a voice aroused 
him that might have been a hundred yards or two miles 
off. 

Ahoy ! ” came over the water. 

“ Ahoy yourself,” called Rankin. 

Jack had got up, and, having missed the gig, had come 
to the end of the wharf in his basswood canoe, which the 
Ideal also carried in this cruise. 

‘‘By Jove,” thought Jack, ‘'I believe that’s Morry out 
there in the fog ; he will never get back as long as he can 
not see the shore.” 

“ Ahoy there,” he called again. 

Ahoy yourself,” came back in a tone of indifference. 

Where are you ? ” * 


no 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


“ Never you mind.” 

“ Who is out there with you ? ” 

“ The gulls,” answered Maurice, as he smiled to him- 
self. 

Jack did not quite hear him. “The Gull?” thought 
he. “ Surely not ! Why, he must be at least three miles 
off.” 

“ Do you mean the Gull Light ? ” he called. 

“ Ya-as. What’s the matter with you, any way ? ” 

They were so far apart that their voices sounded to 
each other as if they came through a telephone. 

At this time the fog had lifted from Maurice, and he 
lay basking in the sun, perfectly content with everything, 
while Jack, still enveloped in fog, was feeling quite anx- 
ious about him. He paddled quickly back to the yacht 
and got a pocket compass, and with this in the bottom of 
the canoe steered sou’-sou’west until he got out of the 
fog, and discovered the gig floating high up at the bow 
and low down aft, puffiing smoke and drifting up the lake 
before an easterly breeze and looking, in the distance, 
rather like a steam-barge. 

“Is that the costume you go cruising in ?” asked Jack, 
as he drew near. 

“ This is the latest fashion, Mother Hubbard gown, 
don’t you know ! ” said Maurice, as he viewed his spindle 
calves with satisfaction. “ Look at that for a leg,” he 
cried, as he waved a pipe-stem in the air. “ No discount 
on that leg.” 

“Nor anything else,” growled Jack. “What do you 
mean by going off this way with the ship’s boats ? ” 

“ Not piracy, is it ? ” asked Morry. 

“ Don’t know,” said Jack, “but I am going to arrest 
you for being a dissolute, naked vagrant, without visible 
means of support, and I shall take you to the place whence 
you came and — ” 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


I 


“Bet you half a dollar you don’t. I’m on the high 
seas, so ‘ get out of me nar-east coorse,’ or by the holy 
poker I’ll sink you.” 

Jack came along to tie the gig’s painter to his canoe 
and thus take it into custody. Then a splashing match 
followed, during which Jack got hold of the rope and be- 
gan to paddle away. This was but a temporary advan- 
tage. A wild figure leaped from the gig and lit on the 
gunwale of the canoe, causing confusion in the enemy’s 
fleet. Jack had just time to grab his compass when he 
was shot out into the “ drink,” as if from a catapult, and 
when he came to the surface he had to pick up his paddle, 
while Morry swam back to the gig, proceeding to row 
about triumphantly, having the enemy swamped and at his 
mercy. The overturned canoe would barely float Jack, 
so Rankin made him beg for mercy and promise to make 
him an eggnog when they reached the yacht. When on 
board again they slept three hours before anybody thought 
of getting up. 

As eight o’clock was striking in the town, these two 
children thought it was time for everybody to be up. They 
were spoiling for some kind of devilment. Geoffrey and 
Charley and others were already awake, and had slipped 
into shirt and trousers to go away for a morning swim in 
the lake. 

Jack visited the sleepers with a yell. Mr. Lemons, 
another proposed victim of the Dusenalls, still slept peace- 
fully. 

“ Now, then, do get up ! ” cried Jack, in a tone of re- 
proach. 

“ Wha’s matter ? ” 

“ Get up,” yelled Jack. 

“Wha’ for.?” 

“ To wash yourself, man.” 

Suppressed laughter was heard from the ladies’ cabins. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


1 12 

Gor any washstands on board ? ’’ still half asleep, but 
sliding into an old pair of sailing trousers. 

“Washstands? Well, I never! Wouldn’t a Turkish 
bath satisfy you ? No, sir ! You’ll dive off the end of the 
pier with the others.” 

“ Not much. Gimme bucket an’ piece soap.” 

“What ! you won’t wash yourself? ” cried Jack, at the 
top of his voice. “ Oh, this is horrible ! I say there, 
aft ! you, fellows, come here ! Lemons says he won’t 
wash himself.” 

At this four or five men ran in and pulled him on 
deck, where Charley stood with a towel in his hand. No 
one would give Lemons a chance to explain. They said, 
“ See here, skipper. Lemons won’t wash himself.” 

Charley’s countenance assumed an expression of dis- 
gust. “ Oh, the dirty swab ! Heave him overboard ! ” 

Lemons broke away then and tried to climb the rig- 
ging, but he was caught and carried back, two men at each 
limb, who showered reproach upon him. The victim was 
as helpless as a babe in their hands, and was conscious 
that the ladies had heard everything. 

Charlie rapped on the admiralty skylight and asked for 
instructions. He declared Lemons would not wash him- 
self, and he asked what should be done with him ? In 
vain the victim cried that the whole thing was a plot. A 
, prompt answer came, with the sound of laughter, from the 
admiralty that he was to go overboard. This was received 
with savage satisfaction, and, after three swings backward 
and forward, Lemon’s body was launched into the air and 
disappeared under the water. 

But Lemons did not come up again. In two or three 
seconds it occurred to some one to ask whether Lemons 
could swim. They had taken it for granted that he could. 
The thought came over them that perhaps by this time he 
was gone forever. Without waiting further, Geoffrey dived 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


II3 

off the wall-sided yacht to grope along the bottom, which 
was only twelve feet from the surface. He entered the 
water like a knife, and from the bubbles that rose to the 
surface it could be seen that a thorough search was being 
made. Each one took slightly different directions, and 
went over the side, one after another, like mud-turtles off 
a log. Between them all, the chance of his remaining 
drowned upon the bottom was small. Several came up 
for air, and dived again in another place and met each 
other below. There was no gamboling now. They were 
horrified, and looked upon it as a matter of life or death. 
They dived again and again, until one man came up bleed- 
ing at the nose and sick with exhaustion. Geoffrey swam to 
help him to reach the yacht, when an explosion of laugh- 
ter was heard on the deck, and there was Lemons, with 
the laugh entirely on his side. As soon as he had got un- 
derneath the surface he had dived deep, and by swimming 
under water had come up under the counter, where he 
waited till all were in the water, and then he came on 
deck. 

Revenge was never more complete. Lemons was the 
hero of the hour. The girls thought him splendid, and 
afterward the sight of eight pairs of trousers and eight 
shirts drying on the main-boom seemed to do him good. 

Charlie said they ought not to make a laundry clothes- 
horse of the yacht on Sunday, and proposed to leave Co- 
bourg. Mrs. Dusenall made a slight demur to leaving on 
Sunday. Jack explained that if it blew hard from the 
south they could not get out at all without a steam-tug 
from Port Hope. This seemed a bore — to be locked up, 
willy-nilly, in harbor — so the yacht was warped to the 
head of the east pier, where, catching the breeze, she 
cleared the west pier and headed out into the lake. Out- 
side they found the wind pretty well ahead and increas- 
ing, but, with sails flattened in, the Ideal lay down to it, 

8 


14 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


and clawed up to windward in a way that did their hearts 
good. 

Some topsails were soon descried far away to wind- 
ward, showing where two other vessels were also beating 
down the lake. This gave them something to try for, and 
when the topmast was housed and all made snug not a 
great while elapsed before the hulls of the schooners be- 
came occasionally visible. The sea was much higher and 
the motion greater than on the previous day, but the 
breeze, being ahead, was more refreshing, and nobody felt 
in danger of being ill after the first hour out. They 
“came to” under the wooded rocks of Nicholas Island, 
put in a couple of reefs, for comfort’s sake, and “ hove 
to ” in calm water to take lunch quietly. 

After lunch, as the yacht paid off on a tack to the 
southward to weather the Scotch Bonnet Lighthouse, they 
found, on leaving the shelter of the island, a sea rolling 
outside large enough to satisfy any of them. One hardly 
realizes from looking at a small atlas what a nice little 
jump of a sea Ontario can produce in these parts. The 
hour lost in mollycoddling for lunch under the island 
made a difference in the work the yacht had to do. The 
two schooners, having received another long start, were 
making good weather of it well to windward of the light, 
and, when on the tops of waves, their hulls could be seen 
launching ahead in fine style through the white crests. 
The yacht’s rigging, as she soared to the top of the wave, 
supplied a musical instrument for the wind to play bar- 
baric tunes upon, which to Jack and some others were in- 
spiring. As she swept down the breezy side of a con- 
quered wave, her rigging sounded a savage challenge to 
the next bottle-green-and-white mountain to come on and 
be cut down. 

Mrs. Dusenall went below and fell asleep in her berth, 
and some of the others were lying about the after-cabin 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


II5 

dozing over books. Nina and the Dusenall girls lay on the 
sloping deck, propped against the companion-hatch, where 
they could command the attention of several other people 
who were sprawled about in the neighborhood of the wheel. 
Margaret and Rankin persisted in climbing about the slant- 
ing decks, changing their positions as new notions about 
the sailing of the vessel came to them. They seemed so 
pleased with each other and with everything — exchanging 
their private little jokes and relishing the odd scraps 
culled from favorite authors that each brought out in the 
talk, as old friends can. Maurice made love to her in the 
openest way — every glance straight into her deep-sea eyes. 
Not possessing a muscle or a figure, he wooed her with his 
wits and a certain virtuous boldness that asserted his un- 
mixed admiration and his quaint ideas with some force. 
And she to him was partly motherly, chiefly sisterly, and 
partly coquettish, like one who accepts the admiration of 
half a score before her girlish fancies are gathered into 
the great egotism of the one who shall reign thrice- 
crowned. Just look at Geoffrey now, as he nears this 
schooner, steering the yacht as she comes up behind and 
to leeward of the big vessel that majestically spurns the 
waves into half an acre of foam. They tell him he can’t 
weather her, that he’ll have to bear away. Now look at 
his muscular full neck and thick crisp curls. See his jaw 
grow rigid and his eye flash as he calculates the weight of 
the wind and the shape of the sea, the set of the sails, and 
the distances. Obviously, a man to have his way. Ob- 
jections do not affect him. See how Margaret’s eyes 
sweep quickly from the schooner back to Geoffrey, to 
watch what he is doing. Why is it when they say he 
can’t do it that it never occurs to her that he won’t ? She 
looks at him open-eyed and thoughtful, and thinks it is 
fine. to carry the courage of one’s opinions to success, 
and she smiles as the yacht skillfully evades the main- 


Il6 GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 

boom of the schooner and saws up on her windward 
side. 

The sunrise that Maurice saw early in the morning 
was too sweet to be wholesome. As the day wore on, the 
barometer grew unsteady, A leaden scud came flying 
overhead, and the fellows began to wonder whether they 
would have to thrash around Long Point all night. A 
good many opinions were passed on the weather, which 
certainly did not look promising. Margaret suggested 
that it would be more comfortable to go into port, but was 
just as well pleased to hear that they had either to go 
about forty miles further for a shelter, or else run back 
to Cobourg. Presque Isle was not spoken of, since it was 
too shallow and intricate to enter safely at night. Lemons 
suggested that they should go back and anchor under 
Nicholas Island, where they had lunched. 

“ Might as well look for needle in a hay-stack,” said 
Charley. “ It*s going to be as black as a pocket when 
daylight is gone. And if you did get there it is no place 
to anchor on a night like this.” 

Jack did not say anything. He knew that Charley 
would go on to South Bay, and he looked forward to 
another night of it round Long Point. The only person 
who cared much what was done was Mr. Lemons. To- 
wards evening he began to think about the next meal. 

My dear skipper, how can you ever get a dinner 
cooked in such a sea as this ? The cook will never be 
able to prepare anything in such a commotion,” said he 
regretfully. 

“Won’t he!” exclaimed Charley decisively. “Just 
wait and see. My men understand that they have to cook 
if the vessel never gets up off her beam ends.” 

“ What, you do not mean to say it will be all — ” Mr. 
Lemons came and laid his head on Charley’s shoulder 
— “ that it will be all just as it was yesterday ? Oh, say 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


II7 

that it will. ‘ Stay me with flagons ; comfort me with 
apples.’ ” 

“ Get up — off me, you fat lump,” cried Charley, push- 
ing him away vehemently. “ I say that we will do better 
to-day, or we’ll put the cook in irons. I hate a measly 
fellow who gives in just when you want him. I have 
sacked four stewards and six cooks about this very things 
and it is a sore subject with me.” 

“ De-lightful man,” said Lemons, gazing rapturously 
at Charley. 

“Rankin will tell you,” said Jack. “He drew the 
papers. The whole thing is down in black and white.” 

“ True enough,” said Maurice. “ But I don’t see how 
signing papers will teach a man to cook on the side of a 
stove, when the ship is lying over and pitching like this.” 

“No more do I,” said Lemons anxiously. 

“ Why, man alive ! ” said Charley, “ the whole stove 
works something like a compass, don’t-you-know. He 
has got it all swinging — slung in irons.” 

“ That is far better than having the cook in irons,” 
suggested Margaret. 

“ Oh ! ” said Mr. Lemons, as he gazed at the sky, 
“ that remark appeals to me. The lady is correct.” 

Then he arose and grasped Charley in a vice-like 
grip, for though fat he was powerful He pinned the 
skipper to the deck and sat upon him. 

“ Say, dearest,” he cooed into his ear, “ at about 
what hour will this heavenly repast be ready ? ” 

“Pull him off — somebody!” groaned Charley. “I 
hate a man that has to be thrown in the water to — ” a 
thump on the back silenced him. 

“ May I convey your commands to the Minister of the 
Interior,” asked his tormentor. 

“ Oh, my ribs ! Yes. Tell him to begin at it at once.” 

“ I don’t mind if I do,” said Mr. Lemons sagaciously ; 


Ilg GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD, 

and he disappeared down the companion-way to inter- 
view the cook. 

“ Ain’t he a brick ? ” said Charley, after Lemons had 
gone forward. “ He’s a regular one-er, that chap ! Give 
him his meals on time and he’s the gamest old sardine. 
By the way, let us have a sweepstake on the time we drop 
anchor in South Bay.” 

We haven’t any money in these togs,” said Geoffrey. 

“Well, you’ll all have to owe it, then. We’ll imagine 
there’s a quarter apiece in the pool.” 

Margaret wanted to know what was to be done. It 
was explained that each person had to write his name on 
a folded paper with the time he thought anchor would be 
dropped in South Bay. The names were read out after- 
ward. They all, with two exceptions, ranged between 
one o’clock at night and seven the next morning. The 
sea was running tremendously high and the wind dead 
ahead. It was now seven o’clock in the evening and with 
some thirty-five miles yet to beat to windward. What 
surprised them all was that Jack had chosen ten o’clock 
and Charley half-past ten of the same evening. They 
explained that they had based their ideas on the clouds. 

“If you look carefully,” said Jack, “you’ll see that 
close to this lower scud coming from the east, there is a 
lighter cloud flying out the south and west.” 

“ I wish, Jack, you had not come on this trip,” said 
Charley. “ I could make lots of money if you were not 
on board,” 

Sure enough, the yacht began to point up nearer and 
nearer to her course, soon after they spoke. Presently 
she lay her course, with the sheet lightly started, mount- 
ing over the head seas like a race-horse, and roaring 
straight into the oncoming walls of water till it seemed 
as if her bowsprit would be whipped out. The wind kept 
veering till at last they had a quarterly breeze driving 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


II9 

them forcibly into the seas that had been rising all day. 
Ordinarily they would have shortened sail to ease the 
boat, but now that dinner was ordered for half-past nine 
o’clock, they drove her through it in order that they 
might dine in calm water. 

They raced past the revolving light on Long Point 
faster than they had expected to pass it that night. The 
twenty-five miles run from here was made in darkness 
and gloom. The boom was topped up to keep it out of 
the water, and the peak of the reefed mainsail was 
dropped, as the increasing gale threatened to bury the 
bows too much in the head seas. Although early enough 
in the evening, everything around was, as Charley had 
predicted, as black as a pocket. Now and then some rain 
drove over them. Maurice and Margaret sat out together 
on deck, wrapped in heavy coats, and watched what 
little they could see. The howling of the wind and roar- 
ing of the black surges beneath them were new experi- 
ences. Close to them was Jack, standing at the wheel, 
tooling her through. By the binnacle-light his face, 
which was about all that could be seen, seemed to be 
filled with a grave contentment that broke into a grim 
smile when the boat surged into a wall of water that 
would have stopped a blulf-bowed craft. Soon after 
dropping Long Point, he leaned over the hatchway and 
called down to Charley, who was lying on his back on 
gay cushions, smoking a cigarette and reading a news- 
paper. Got the Duck Light, skip.” 

“All right, old boy. Wire in.” 

Dusenall turned over his newspaper, but did not take 
the trouble to come on deck to investigate. 

“ Say ! ” he called. 

“ Hello.” 

“ Won’t she take the peak again ? I’ve got a terrible 
twist on me for dinner.” 


20 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


“ No. Bare poles is more what she wants just now,’* 
said Jack. 

“ The deuce ! Who’s forrud ? ” 

“ Billy and Joe.” 

“ All right. Must be damp for ’em up there.” 

“ Can’t see. Guess it’s blue water to the knees, 
most of the time.” 

‘‘ Shouldn’t wonder. Do ’em good.” 

After this jargon was finished, it did not take long to 
run down to the False Duck Light. Here the double- 
reefed mainsail was “ squatted ” and the fourth reef-pen- 
nant hauled down. The reefed staysail was taken in and 
stowed ; and under the peak of the mainsail they jibed 
over. Steering by the compass, they then rounded to lee- 
ward of Timber Island and hauled their wind into South 
Bay. 

To put the Ideal over so far with so little canvas show- 
ing, it must have been blowing a gale. They sped up 
into the bay close hauled, and “came to” in about four 
fathoms. Down went the big anchor through the hissing 
ripples to that best of holding-grounds, and the vessel, 
drifting back as if for another wild run, suddenly fetched 
up with a grind on her iron cable. The mad thing knew 
that unyielding grip, and swung around submissively. 


CHAPTER X. 

Full souls are double mirrors, making still 
An endless vista of fair things before, 

Repeating things behind, 

George Eliot’s Poems. 

There is a want of primness in the manners and cus- 
toms of my characters which a reviewer might take excep- 
tion to. To be sure he might with effect criticise their 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


121 


making up a pool on Sunday. But the fact was that nobody 
remembered it to be Sunday until Jack wanted to collect 
his winnings after dinner. At this, Mrs. Dusenall held up 
her hands in high disapproval. While out in the lake, in 
the worst part of the sea, she had commenced to read her 
Bible, and had felt thankful to arrive in shelter. Conse- 
quently she remembered the day. 

“ Surely, Charley, you have not been gambling on Sun- 
day ? ” said she reprovingly. 

The girls looked guilty, with an expression of “ Oh, 
haven’t we been bad ? ” on their faces. 

Rankin endeavored to relieve the situation by explain- 
ing in many words that the whole thing was a mere mat- 
ter of form, and no more than an expression of opinion 
as to the time the boat would reach the harbor, because 
no money was put up — in fact, as the arrangement was 
made on Sunday, the whole thing was illegal, and no money 
ever would be put up, etc. 

Jack kicked him under the table for arguing away his 
winnings, and Margaret quoted at him : 

“ His tongue 

Dropped manna, and could make the worse appear 
I'he better reason, to perplex and dash 
Maturest counsels.” 

“ Good,” said Geoffrey, “ Give him the rest of it. Miss 
Margaret. Rub it in well” 

Margaret continued, and with mirthful eyes declaimed 
at Maurice : 

“ For his thoughts were low ; 

To vice industrious, but to nobler deeds 
Timorous and slothful : and yet he pleas’d the ear, 

And with persuasive accent thus began.” 

This amused Margaret, because Maurice was such a 
decent little man. But Geoffrey’s enjoyment of it was 


122 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


different. Rankin felt that there was growing in him an 
antagonism to Hampstead. He was afraid of him for her 
sake — afraid she would learn to like him too much. At 
any other time chaff would have found him invulnerable, 
but Geoffrey’s amusement made him redden. 

‘‘You seem to be well acquainted with the character- 
istics of Belial, Hampstead,” he said. “ Margaret, your 
memory is excellent. Could you favor us with the lines 
just preceding what you first quoted ? ” 

Why should Margaret have blushed as she did so ? 
She quoted : 

“ On th’ other side up rose 
Belial, in act more graceful and humane ; 

A fairer person lost not heaven ; he seem’d 
For dignity compos’d and high exploit : 

But all was false and hollow ; though his tongue 
Dropp’d manna,” etc. 

“ Thank you,” said Maurice. “ You see the lines are 
intended to describe a person far different from me in 
appearance. Hampstead, you observe, had studied the 
passage. A coincidence, is it not ? ” 

Soon they were all composing themselves for sleep. 
Margaret was listening peacefully to the shrieking of the 
wind in the rigging as she thought how every moment on 
board the yacht had been one of unclouded enjoyment. 
An unconscious smile went over her face that would have 
been pleasant to see. Then she thought of Geoffrey and 
smiled again. This time she caught herself, and asked 
herself why ? All day, since she had watched Geoffrey 
steering the yacht beside the schooner in the lake, her 
mind had been chanting two lines of poetry. When asked 
in the evening to repeat the lines aloud she had blushed 
because it seemed like confessing herself. 

A fairer person lost not heaven ; he seemed 
For dignity composed and high exploit. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


123 


In her mind Geoffrey had become identified with these 
two lines. But what had friend Maurice meant by sad- 
dling the context on him in that malevolent way ? Could 
he really have thought that Belial’s character was also 
Geoffrey’s ? She put away this idea as untenable. She 
was one of those born in homes where the struggle for 
existence has not for generations taught the household to 
be suspicious ; with the innate nobility that tends, whether 
rightly or wrongly, to think the best of others; she was 
one of those whom men turn to with relief after the cun- 
ning and suspicion of the business world, each feeling the 
assistance it is to meet some one who is ready to take 
him at the valuation he would like to be able justly to 
put upon himself. 

When morning broke, there were eight or ten schooners 
to be seen on different sides that had run in for shelter 
during the night. About six o’clock Margaret crept out 
to satisfy her curiosity as to what kind of place they were 
in. With only her head above the hatchway at the top of 
the stairs leading up from the ladies’ cabin she gazed about 
for some time before sh6 spied Maurice sitting on the 
counter with his back to her, his feet dangling over the 
water while he watched the vessels. 

She crept toward him and gave a cry close to his ear, 
to startle him. 

“ Don’t make so much noise,” said he, quite unstartled. 
“ I don’t like you to call out like that in my ear.” He 
added, perforce, as he looked at her, “At least I don’t 
like it when I can’t see you.” 

“ Don’t tell stories, Morry. You know you would like 
me to do it at any time.” 

“ I would not, indeed,” he asserted. “ Come and sit 
down and keep quite silent. Just when I was having such 
a happy, peaceful time you come and spoil it all.” 

Margaret sat down on the rail and turned herself about 


124 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


SO that she could sit in the same position beside him. His 
helping hand still held hers as they sat together. He was 
almost afraid to turn toward her, for fear he would look 
too tenderly. She might go away if he did. His rdle 
was to bully her, and then she would never know how 
exquisite it was for him to have her sit beside him. 

“ There, now ! Sit perfectly quiet and don’t say an- 
other word. Just look around and enjoy yourself in a 
reasonable manner. I’m not going to have my morning 
disarranged and my valuable reveries disturbed.” 

The wind had shifted to the northwest in the morning 
and had blown itself out and down to a moderate breeze 
with a clearing sky, with patches of blue and broken 
clouds overhead. 

“Now listen to the chorus of the sailors as they get 
up their anchor. Does it not seem a sweet and fitting 
overture to the whole oratorio of the voyage before them ? 
I have been watching the vessels go out, one by one, for 
over an hour. I must say there are some uncommonly 
rude men among the sweet singers we are listening to, and 
— and — ” He stopped and forgot to go on. 

“And what?” cried Margaret peremptorily. 

Maurice had lost himself in the contemplation of some 
locks of sunny hair, that w’ere flying in the breeze from 
Margaret’s forehead, and the graceful curve of her full 
neck as she looked away at the ships. 

“ Oh, yes. And that’s Timber Island over there, 
covered with trees and stamped out round like a break- 
fast bun, and that’s the False Duck Island, where we 
came in last night. The schooner sailing yonder is going 
to take the channel between that white line of breakers 
and South Bay Point running out there, and those huts 
you see nestling in the trees far away on the main-land are 
fishermen’s houses — ” 

He was not looking at any of these things, but was fol- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


125 


lowing out two trains of thought in his active head while he 
talked against time. What really absorbed him was Mar- 
garet’s ear, and a sort of invisible down on the back part 
of her cheek. He was thinking to himself that if five 
dollars would purchase a kiss on that spot he would be 
content to see a notice in the Gazette : “ Maurice Rankin, 
failed: liabilities, $5.00.” 

Margaret was listening, gravely unconscious of being 
so much admired, enjoying all he said, and feasting her 
eyes upon the distances, the brilliant colors, and the fleet- 
ing shadows of the broken clouds upon the water. 

“ Why, what a nice old chappie you are ! ” she ex- 
claimed, giving his hand a pat and taking hers away. 
“ How did you manage to find out all about the surround- 
ings ? ” 

“ Been around boarding the different schooners lying 
at anchor. Examining their papers, you know,” said he 
grandly. “Went around in the canoe to the first fellow — 
a coal vessel. A man appeared near the bow and looked 
down at me as if I were a kind of fish swimming about. 
‘ Heave-to, or I’ll sink you,’ I said in the true old nautical 
style. He did not say a word, but stooped down and did 
heave two, in fact three, pieces of coal at me. I passed 
on, satisfied that his vessel needed no further inspection. 
I was then attracted by the name of another schooner, on 
whose stern was painted the legend ‘Bark Swaller.’ ” 

“ What a strange name,” said Margaret, as Maurice 
spelled it out. 

“Well, it puzzled me a good deal, as I examined it 
closely, being in doubt whether Barque Swallow was in- 
tended, or perhaps the name of some German owner. At 
all events a sailor spied me paddling about under the 
stern of the boat and regarded me with evident suspicion. 
I thought I would deal more gently with this man than with 
the other fellow. ‘Can you tell me,’ I asked, ‘the name 


126 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


of that round island over there ? ’ The only answer I 
got was unsatisfactory. ‘ Sheer off,’ said he, ‘ wid your 
dirty dug-out.’ This seemed rather rude, but I did not 
retaliate. I thought I might go further and fare worse, so 
I endeavored to mollify him. Perhaps, I thought, being 
up all night in hard weather had made these sailors irrit- 
able. 

“ ‘ Can you drink whisky ? ’ I said — ” Margaret was 
looking at Maurice with a soft expression of interest and 
mirth. He was talking on in order that he might con- 
tinue to bask in the beauty of the face that looked straight 
at him. But the strain for a moment was too great. For 
an instant he slacked up his check-rein, and while he nar- 
rated his story he continued in the same tone with : 
“(Believe me, my dear Margaret, you are looking per- 
fectly heavenly this morning) and the effect on this poor 
toiler of the sea was, I assure you, quite wonderful.” 
Rankin’s tongue went straight on, as if the paranthesis 
were part of the narrative. Margaret saw that it was use- 
less to speak, and resigned herself to listen again. “ Quite 
wonderful,” he continued. “ The fellow motioned to me 
to come to the bow of the vessel, and when 1 got there 
he came over the bulwarks and dropped like a m.onkey 
from one steel rope to another till he stood on the bob- 
stay chains. 

“ ‘ Whist ! ’ said he. * Divil a word ! Have you got it 
there ? ’ 

There is some on the yacht,’ I said, * and I want to 
ask you some questions about this place. What island is 
that over there ? ’ 

Mother of Pathrick,’ said he, ‘ an’ did ye come down 
all the way in your yacht and not know Timber Island 
when you’d see it ? ’ 

“ He looked at me as if I was some strange being. 

“ ‘ And where was ye last night, might I axe ? ’ 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


127 


“ ‘ Where we are now,’ I said. 

“ ‘ Faith, it was a big head that brought you into the 
nursery here before last night came on ! More be-token, I 
have’nt had a dhry rag on me for tin hours, and divil a sail 
we’ve got widout a shplit in it the size of a shteam-tug. 
Bring it in a sody-bottle, darlint, and the Lord ’ll love ye 
if ye don’t spoil it. Whisht, love ! You drink my health 
in the sody and don’t lave any in the bottle.’ 

“ I came back and got him a soda-bottle of the genu- 
ine article, and while he drank it the rapidity of his 
tongue was peculiar. ‘ So you have been here before ? ’ 
I asked. 

“ ‘ Whisht, darlint ! till the captain won’t hear you. 
Been here before ? Begorra, this place has been a mine 
of goold to me many a time. For siventeen days at a 
slap I’ve laid here in Dicimber at four dollars a day, with 
nothin’ to do but play checkers and sphlit wood for the 
shtove and pray for a gale o’ wdnd down the lake till 
shpring-time.’ 

“ This eloquence continued until I thought he would 
certainly fall off the bobstay. 

“ ‘ Tell me, now,’ he said, after I had got all the in- 
formation I wanted, ‘ have ye a berth for an old salty 
aboard that craft ? ’ 

I said we had not. 

“ ‘ Faith, perhaps you’re right. I kin see by the stow 
on yer mainsail and by the nate way yer heads’ls is drag- 
gen’ in the wather that you’re born and bred up to the 
sea and don’t require no assistance.’ 

“ With these sarcastic words he gave me his bless- 
ing, threw away the bottle, and disappeared again over 
the bow.” 

“ I gather from your remarks that your friend was 
of Hibernian origin,” said Margaret. “ Perhaps a good 
dynamiter spoiled. But we will speak of him again. 


128 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


What I have been wanting for some time has been a trip 
in the canoe to the beach over there. I want to walk over 
the sand bar and get close to those great breakers rolling 
in on the shingle. Unhitch your canoe-string and bring 
the canoe alongside.” 

“ Unhitch your canoe-string ! ” repeated Rankin con- 
temptuously. “ You must speak more nautically or I 
won’t understand you.” 

“ Well, what ought I to say ? ” 

“ Dunno. ‘ Cast adrift your towline ’ sounds well.” 

“ It does, indeed,” said Margaret, as Morry swung the 
light cockleshell into position and she descended into it 
with care. “ ‘ Cast adrift your towline ’ has a full, able- 
bodied seaman sort of sound ; but it has not the charm 
of mystery about it that some expressions have. Now 
‘ athwart your hawse ’ seems portentous in its meaning. 
I don’t want to know what it means. I would rather go 
on thinking of it as of the arm that handed forth the 
sword Excalibur, ‘ clothed in white samite — mystic, won- 
derful.’ Do you know I read all Clark Russell’s sea stories, 
and drive through all his sea-going technicalities with the 
greatest interest, although I understand nothing about 
them. When he goes aloft on the mainboom and brails 
up his foregaff-bobstay I go with him. Sometimes he de- 
scribes how small the deck below looks from the dizzy 
height when, poised upon the capstan-bars, he furls the 
signal halyards that flap and fill away and thunder in the 
gale ; and then I see it all — ” 

“ So do I, so do I ! ” cried Morry, as he paddled dex- 
terously to the shore. “You’ve got Clark Russell to a T. 
He goes on like that by the hour together. I read every 
word, and the beauty of it is I always think I understand. 
Why do we like his stories so much, I wonder?” 

“ One reason is because his heroes are manly men and 
have brave hearts,” said Margaret confidently. “I think 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


129 


that is why they appeal to women ; he always arouses a 
sentiment of pity for the hero’s misfortunes. Few women 
can resist that.” And Margaret, somewhat stirred, looked 
away over the broad sea. Almost unconsciously there 
flashed before her the image of a Greek god winning a 
foot-race under circumstances that aroused her sympathy. 
Again she saw him steering a yacht, keen, strong, active, 
determined, and calm amid excitement. A flush suffused 
her countenance, and her eyes became soft and thoughtful 
as she gazed far away. Ah, these rushes of blood to the 
head ! How they kindle an unacknowledged idea into 
activity ! A moment and, like a flash, a latent, undevel- 
oped instinct becomes a living potent force to develop us. 
The admirer becomes a lover, the plotter a criminal, and 
the religious man a fanatic. 

When the canoe pushed its way through the rushes and 
beached itself upon the soft sand the two jumped out and 
crossed over to the lake side, where the heavy ground 
swells of the last night’s gale were still mounting high 
upon the shingle. The bar leading toward them from 
False Duck Island was a seething expanse of white break- 
ers, and over the lake to the south and west, as far as the 
eye could reach in the now rarefied atmosphere a tumbling 
mass of bright-green waters could be seen, which grew 
blue in color at the sharply cut horizon. Not far off 
the “ Bark Swaller ” was buffeting her way to the south- 
ward, toward Oswego, and around the wooded island with 
the lighthouse on it, the mail steamer, twelve hours de- 
tained, was getting a first taste of the open water. 

It was a morning that made the two feel as if it were 
impossible to keep still. The flat shingle, washed smooth 
by the high waves of the previous night, was firm under 
foot as they walked and trotted along between the wreck- 
age and driftwood on one side and the highest wash of 
the hissing water on the other. An occasional flight of 
Q 


130 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


small plover suggested the wildness of the spot, and some- 
thing of the spirit of these birds in their curving and 
wheeling flight seemed to possess the two young people — 
making them run and caper on the sands. 

“ You ought to be able to run a pretty good race,” said 
Maurice, glancing at the shapely figure of his companion. 

“ So I am,” said Margaret, as she sprang up on a large 
piece of driftwood. “ I’ll run you a race to that bush on 
the far point around the little bay. Do you see it } ” 

“ I see it,” said Maurice. “ Are you ready ? Go ! ” 

Margaret sprang down from the stump and was off like 
an arrow. Morry thought it was only a sham and a pre- 
tense of hers, as he bounded off beside her. He soon 
found his mistake, however, as his unaccustomed muscles 
did their utmost to keep him abreast of the gliding 
figure in the dark-blue skirt and jersey. They rounded 
the curve of the bay, Maurice on the inside track. But 
this advantage did not give him a lead. The distance to 
the winning point seemed fatal to his chances, but he 
hung on, hoping his opponent would tire. Again he was 
mistaken. 

“ Come on, Morry I Don’t be beaten by a woman.” 

Her voice, as she said this, seemed aggressively fresh, 
and the taunt brought Rankin even with her again. He 
had no breath left to say anything in reply as they came 
to a small indentation filled with water where the shore 
curved in, making another little bay. Margaret ran around 
it, but Maurice, as a last chance, splashed through it, re- 
gardless of water up to his ankles. He gained about ten 
feet by this subterfuge. A few gliding bounds, impossible 
to describe, and Margaret was beside him again. 

“ That was a shabby advantage to take,” she said as 
she passed his panting form. “ Now I’ll show you how 
fast I can run.” 

She left him then as he labored on. She floated away 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


I3I 

from him like a thistle-blossom on the breeze. He forgot 
his defeat in his admiration of that fleeting figure which 
he would have believed to move in the air had he not 
seen marks in the sand made by toes of small shoes. He 
could hardly comprehend how she could run away from 
him in this way. Yet there was no wings attached to the 
lithe form before him. No wings, but a bit of silk ankle 
which seemed far preferable. 

Margaret stopped at the bush which was to be the 
winning post. Morry then staggered in exhausted and 
threw himself sideways into the yielding mass of the wil- 
low bush and fell out on the other side. 

“ Oh,” he said, as he rolled over on his back with his 
head resting in his hands, “wasn't that beautiful?” 

“ The race — yes, indeed, it was splendid.” 

“ No, I don’t mean the race. That was horrible. I 
mean to see you run.” (Gasp.) 

Margaret’s face was sparkling with excitement and col- 
or, while her bosom rose and fell after her exertion. 

“ I can run fast, can I not ? ” Her arms wer6 hanging 
demurely at her side again. She could run, but she never 
seemed to be at all masculine. 

“ I never ran a race with a man before,” she said, 
laughing. 

“ And never will run another with this individual,” said 
Rankin. “ Nothing goes so fast as a train you have missed, 
just as it leaves the station, and yet I have caught it some- 
times. You can go faster than anything I ever saw.” (A 
breath.) “ It is a good thing to know when one is beaten. 
You will always be an uncatchable distance before me.” 
(A sigh.) 

“ My shoes are full of sand,” said Margaret ruefully, 
looking down at them. 

“ Mine are full of water,” said Maurice. He did not 
seem to care. He was quite content to lie there and gaze 


132 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


at her without reservation. And, wkh his heightened 
color and excitement, he actually appeared rather good 
looking. 

‘‘ I think the least you could do would be to offer to 
take the sand out of my shoes,” said Margaret. 

If I don’t have to get up I could do it. I won’t be 
able to get up for about twenty minutes. But if you sit 
on that stump — so — I think I could manage it.” 

Resting on one elbow, he unlaced the shoes, knocked 
the sand out of them, and spent a long time over the oper- 
ation. Then he wondered at their small size, and meas- 
ured them, sole to sole, with his own boots while he chat- 
tered on, as usual, about nothing. Hers were not by any 
means microscopic shoes, but they seemed so to him, and 
he regarded them with some of the curiosity of the miners 
of Blue Dog Gulch, Nevada, when a woman’s boot ap- 
peared among them after their two years’ isolation from 
the interesting sex. There was something in the way he 
handled them that spoke of exile — something that stirred 
the compassion one might feel on seeing the monks of Man 
Saba tend their canaries. 

The left shoe was put on with great care, and then he 
sat looking over the lake for a while in silence before be- 
ginning with the second. It was a long, well-chiseled 
foot, with high instep, and none of those knobs which 
sometimes necessitate long dresses, and in men’s boots 
take such a beautiful polish. He pretended to brush 
some sand away, and then, bending over, kissed the silk- 
covered instep, and received an admonitory tap for his 
boldness. 

“ Fie, Morry ! to kiss an unprotected lady’s foot,” said 
Margaret archly, as she took the shoe from him and put it 
on herself. “ You have insulted me.” 

“Nay, Margaret, ’twas but the sign of my allegiance 
and fealty,” said he, looking up with what tried to be an 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


133 


off-hand manner. “ It is the old story,” he said lightly ; 
“ the worship of the unattainable — the remnant, perhaps, of 
our old nature worship. If you were not better acquainted 
with the subject than I am, I could give you a discourse 
which would be, I assure you, very instructive as to how 
we have always striven after what we think to be good in 
the unattainable. We have been forbidden to worship the 
sun or to appease the thunders and lightnings, and, one 
by one, nearly all the objects of worship have been swept 
away, leaving a world that now does not seem to know 
what to do with its acquired instincts. One object is left, 
though, and I am inclined to think that men are never 
more thoroughly admirable than when influenced by the 
worship of the women who seem to them the best, that 
many thus come to know the pricelessness of good and the 
despair of evil, with quite as satisfactory practical results 
as any other creed could bring about.” 

‘‘ What, then, becomes of the search for the unattain- 
able after marriage ? ” asked Margaret practically. 

“ I imagine that the search would continue, that the 
greatest peace of marriage is the consciousness of approach- 
ing good in being assisted to live up to a woman’s higher 
ideals. It seems as if the condition of Milton’s idyllic 
pair — ‘ he for God only, she for God in him ’ — has but 
little counterpart in real life, and that, in a thousand 
cases to one, the morality of the wife is the main chance 
of the husband.” 

“ I understand, then, that we are to be worshiped as a 
means toward the improvement of our husbands. I was 
hoping,” said Margaret smiling, “that you were going to 
prove us to be real goddesses, worthy of devotion for our- 
selves — without more.” 

“You are raising a well-worn question — as to what men 
worship when they bow before a shrine. If you were the 
shrine, I should say generally the shrine. At other times 


134 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


they worship that which the shrine suggests. What I 
mean is, that it is a good thing for one to have a power 
with him capable of improving all the good that is in 
him. For myself, the point is somewhat wanting in inter- 
est, as I never expect to be able to put it to a practical 
test." 

‘‘ Not get married, Maurice ? Why will you never get 
married ? " 

“ I intended to have casually mentioned the reason a 
minute ago, only you interrupted me just as I was coming 
to the interesting part." 

“ Then tell me now, and I won’t interrupt." 

“ Well, you know I am like the small boys who want 
pie, and won’t eat anything if they don’t get it," said he, 
striving to be prosaic. “ I love you far too well to make 
it possible for me to marry anybody else." 

In spite of the assistance that pulling his hair gave 
him, as his head lay back in his hands, his voice shook 
and his form stiffened out along the sand in a way that 
told of struggle. Margaret was surprised, but she hardly 
yet understood the matter enough to feel pained. She 
had not been led to expect that men would first express 
their love while lying on their backs. 

“ I thought I would tell you of it, as you would then 
know how particularly well you could trust me — as your 
friend — a very faithful one. You know, even in my pres- 
ent state, I would be full of hope, if things were differ- 
ent, because the money is bound to come sooner or later ; 
but you, Margaret, I know, without your words, will never 
be attainable — that the moon would be more easy for me 
to grasp." 

Margaret was not often at a loss for a word, but 
now she knew not what to say. It did not seem as if any- 
thing could be said. She essayed to speak ; but he stopped 
her. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


135 


" I know what you would say," he said. They would 
be kind words in their tone, full of sympathy, words that 
I love to hear — that I hear like music in my ears when 
you are out of sight ? You must, an<J^I know you will, for- 
give me for all these confessions," said he, smiling. “You 
have made such a change come over my life. You have 
given me so much happiness." 

“I don’t see how," said Margaret, not knowing what 
to say. 

“ No — you could hardly know why. If you knew 
what a different life I have led from that of others you 
would understand better the real happiness you have 
given me. My life of late years has been unlovely. I 
have not had the soft influences of a home as it should 
be, but I have always yearned for them." 

The pretense of being off-hand in his manner had left 
him. He talked disjointedly, and with effort. “You can 
not know what it is to feel continually the want of affec- 
tion. You have never hungered for the luxury of being in 
some way cared for. But these weaknesses of mine will 
not bore you, because you are kind. It will make my 
case plainer when I tell you that for years — as long as I 
can remember — there never has been a night that a long- 
ing for the presence of my parents has not come over me. 
Until I saw you. Now you have come to fill the gap. 
Now I think of you, and listen to your voice, and look at 
your face, and care for you. You fill more places in my 
heart than you know of. You are father and mother and 
all beside to me, and I shall go back to my dreary life 
gladder for this experience, this love for you which will 
remain with me always. Still, it is dreadful to look into 
a future of loneliness ! Oh, Margaret, it is dreadful to 
be always alone — always alone." 

Margaret was watching the part of his face not covered 
with his cap as his words were ground out haltingly, and 


136 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


she could see his lips twitch as old memories mingled 
with his present emotions. As he proceeded she saw 
from his simple words how deep-seated were his affec- 
tions, and she wondered at the way he had concealed his 
love for her. A great compassion for him was welling up 
in her heart. As she listened to his words, it came upon 
her what it might be to love deeply and then to find that 
it only led to disappointment. She felt glad that she had 
given him some happiness — glad when he said he could 
look forward more cheerfully to going- back to his hope- 
less existence. It was brave to speak of it thus — asking 
nothing. But when he said it was dreadful to be alone — 
always alone — his voice conveyed the idea of horror to 
her, and, in a moment, without knowing exactly why, the 
tears were in her eyes, and she was kneeling beside him 
on the sand asking what could be done, and blaming her- 
self for giving him trouble. Her touch upon his hand 
thrilled him. He dared not remove his cap. He dared 
not look at her for very fear of his happiness ; but then 
he heard a half sob in her voice, and that cured him. 
It would never do for her to be weeping. He had said 
too much, he thought. He partly sat up, leaning upon 
his hand, and was himself again. Margaret was looking 
at him (so beautiful with her d^wy eyes), with but one 
thought in her mind, which was how to be kind to him, 
how to make up to him some of the care that his life had 
been shorn of. It was all done in a moment. Margaret 
said tearfully, “ Oh, what can I do ? ” and Rankin’s native 
quickness was present with him. He leaned forward, in- 
spired by a new thought, and said, “ Kiss me,” and Mar- 
garet, knowing nothing but a great compassion for him, in 
which self was entirely forgotten, said : “ Indeed, I will, if 
you would care for that.” 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


137 


CHAPTER XI. 

YACHTING ONLY. 

Some hearts might have yearned to have been on board 
during the fishing in Hay Bay, and to have enjoyed those 
evenings when the yacht anchored in the twilight calm, 
beside rocky shores, or near waving banks of sedge and 
rushes, where the whip-poor-will and bull frog supplied 
all the necessary music. I abandon all that occurred at 
pretty Picton and Belleville, but I must not forget the little 
episode that happened one evening near Indian Point as 
the yacht was on her way to Kingston. A fresh breeze 
had been blowing during the afternoon, and the two reefs, 
taken in for comfort’s sake, still remained in the mainsail, 
as no one after dinner felt equal to the exertion of shak- 
ing them out. The wind had almost died away as they 
approached Indian Point, and not far off, on the other 
side of this long, narrow arm of the sea called the Bay of 
Quinte, lay MacDonald’s Cove, a snug little place for 
anchorage in any kind of weather. A heavy bank of 
clouds was rapidly rising over the hills in the west, and 
hastening up the sky to extinguish the bright moon that 
had been making a fairy landscape of the bay and its sur- 
roundings, and the barometer was falling rapidly. 

This condition of affairs Jack reported to Charley, who 
was below with several others having a little game in 
which the word “ ante ” seemed to be used sometimes in a 
tone of reproach. Charles answered gayly, without look- 
ing away from the game, that Jack had better get the 
yacht into the Cove while there was wind to take her 
there, and Jack, who observed that he was “ seeing ” and 
“raising” an antagonist for the fifth time on a pair of 
fours, thought a man should not be disturbed at such a 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


138 

time, and went on deck to shake out the reefs so as to 
drift into the Cove, if possible, before the storm came on. 
But when in the middle of the bay the wind gave out en- 
tirely. For half an hour the Ideal lay becalmed and mo- 
tionless. Oilskin suits and sou’westers were donned. Now 
fringes of whitish scud, torn from the driving clouds, could 
be seen flying past the bleared moon, and it seemed in the 
increasing darkness, while they were waiting for the tumult, 
as if the shores around contracted, so as to give the yacht 
no space for movement. Jack took the compass bear- 
ings of the lighthouse, expecting soon to be in total dark- 
ness, and he had both anchors prepared for instant use. 
The sails had been close-reefed, but after being reefed 
they were lowered again so as to present nothing but bare 
poles to the squall. The darkness came on and grew in- 
tense. Between the rapidly increasing peals of thunder 
the squall could be heard approaching, moaning over the 
hills in the west and down the bay as if ravening for prey, 
while the lightning seemed to take a savage delight in 
spearing the distant cliffs which, in the flashes, were beau- 
tifully outlined in silhouette against an electric atmosphere. 
Still the yacht lay motionless in the dead air difficult to 
breathe and oppressive ; and still Charley continued to 
“ raise ” and get raised ” in the cheerfully lighted cabin, 
whence the laughter and the talk of the game mingled 
strangely, in the ears of those on deck, with the sounds of 
the coming tempest. Margaret, with her head out of the 
companionway, watched the scene with a nervousness 
that impending electrical storms oppressed her with. Her 
quick eyes soon caught sight of something on the water, 
not far off. A mystic line of white could be seen coming 
along the surface. She asked what it was at a moment 
when the deadness and blackness of the air seemed appall- 
ing, and the ear was filled with strange swishing sounds. 
She never heard any answer. Another instant and the 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


139 


yacht heeled over almost to the rail in that line of white 
water, which the whips of the tornado had lashed into 
spume. Blinding sheets of spray, picked up by the wind 
from the surface of water, flew over those on dock, and 
instantly the lee scuppers were gushing with the rain and 
spray which deluged the decks. Word was carried forward 
by a messenger from the wheel to hoist a bit of headsail, 
and when this was immediately done the yacht paid off 
before the squall, running easterly, with all the furies after 
her. The darkness was so great that it was impossible to 
see one’s hand close to one's eyes. The thunderclaps 
near at hand were rendered more terrific by the echoes 
from the hills, and only while the lightning clothed the 
vessel in a spectral glare could they see one another. 
Still the yacht sped on, while Jack jealously watched the 
binnacle where the only guide was to be found. The 
Indian Point light, though not far off, was completely 
blotted out by the rain, which seemed to fall in solid 
masses, and even the lightning failed to indicate the 
shores or otherwise reveal their position. 

A wild career, such as they were now pursuing, must 
end somewhere, and in the narrow rock-bound locality 
they were flying through, the chance of keeping to the 
proper channel entirely by compass and chart did not by 
any means amount to a certainty. Nor was anchoring in 
the middle of the highway to be thought of, especially as 
some trading vessels were known to be in the vicinity. 
The chance of being cut down by them was too great. 
Jack felt that an error now might cause the loss of the 
yacht. After calculating a variation of the compass in 
these parts, he decided to run before the gale for a while 
and keep in the channel if possible — hoping for a lull in 
the downfall of rain, so that his whereabouts could be dis- 
covered. 

A high chopping sea was driving the yacht on, while 


140 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


she scudded under bare poles before the gale, and Jack 
had been for some little time endeavoring to estimate their 
rate of speed when the deluge seemed to abate partly and 
the glimmer of a light could be seen to the southward. A 
sailor called out “There’s Indian Point light.” If it had 
been the light he mentioned they would have had all they 
wanted. Jack feared they had run past it, but, to make 
sure, he asked the sailors their opinion. They all said they 
were certain it was Indian Point light. One of them de- 
clared he had seen the lighthouse itself in one of the 
flashes. So Jack had the peak of the mainsail partly 
hoisted and they drew around to the southward, so as to 
anchor under the lee of the lighthouse point. As the 
yacht came round sideways to the wind she lay down to it 
and moved slowly and heavily through the short angry 
seas that, hitting the side, threw spray all over her. Jack 
was feeling his way carefully and slowly through the inky 
blackness of the night with the lead-line going to show 
the depth of the water, when the lookout on the bowsprit- 
end, after they had proceeded a considerable distance to 
the south, suddenly cried “ Breakers ahead ! ” and he 
tumbled inboard off the bowsprit, as if he thought the 
boat about to strike at once. “ Let her go round, sir, for 
God’s sake ! We’re right on the rocks.” 

Jack, back at the wheel, had not been able to get a 
glimpse of the foaming rocks in the lightning which the 
man on the bowsprit had seen. He despaired of the boat’s 
going about, but he tried it. The high chopping sea 
stopped the yacht at once. He knew it was asking too 
much of her to come about with so little way on, and the 
canvas all in a bag, so, as there was evidently no room to 
wear the ship, he had the big anchor dropped. His in- 
tention was to come about by means of his anchor and get 
out on the other tack into the channel and anywhere away 
from the rocks and the breakers that could be heard 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


141 

above the tempest roaring close to them on the port side. 
While the chain was being paid out, the close-reefed main- 
sail was hoisted up to do its work properly. The storm 
staysail was also hoisted and sheeted home on the port 
side to back her head off from the land. As this was be- 
ing done, the sailors paid out the anchor-chain rapidly. 
To do so more quickly they carelessly threw it off the 
winch and let it smoke through the hawse-pipe at its own 
pace. But suddenly there came a check to it, which, in 
the darkness, could not be accounted for. A bight or a 
knot in the chain had come up and got jammed some- 
where, and now it refused to run out. The Ideal imme- 
diately straightened out the cable, and, at the moment, 
all the king’s horses and all the king’s men would have 
been powerless to clear it. Jack came forward, and with a 
lantern discovered how things were. “ Never mind,” he 
thought. “ If she will lie here for a while no harm will be 
done.” In the mean time, while the men were getting a 
tackle rigged to haul up a bit of the chain, so As to obtain 
control of it again, the rain ceased to fall, while the light- 
ning, by which alone the men could see to work, served 
only to make the succeeding darkness more profound. 

The place they had sailed into was on the north shore 
of Amherst Island. As Jack feared, the sailors had been 
wrong in thinking that the light they saw was the one on 
Indian Point. It was a lantern on a schooner which had 
gone ashore on the rocks close to where the Ideal now lay. 

The worst of their anxiety was, however, yet to come. 
During a vivid flash, after the rain had partly cleared 
away, a reef of rocks was discovered a short distance off, 
trending out from the shore directly behind the yacht. 
Jack had been lying with his hand on the cable to feel 
whether the anchor was holding or not. He soon found 
that the yacht was “dragging.” The sails were lowered 
at once, and the second anchor was left go, in the hope 


142 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


that it might catch hold when the first one had dragged 
back far enough to allow the second to work. 

With the rocks behind waiting for them, it was now a 
question of anchors holding, or nothing— yacht or no yacht. 
Every moment as she pitched and ducked and tossed 
against the driving seas and wind she dropped back to- 
ward a black mass over which the waves broke savagely. 
The yacht was literally locked up to the big anchor. They 
could neither haul up nor pay out its cable, so that, until 
this was remedied by means of a tackle (which takes 
some time in a jumping sea and darkness) sailing again 
was impossible. Carefully they paid out chain enough for 
the second anchor to do its work. Not till they were 
close to the rocks did they allow any strain to come upon 
it. Then they took a turn on its chain and waited to see 
how it would hold. 

Feeling the cable, when there is nothing to hope for 
but that the hook will do its wwk, is a quiet though 
anxious occupation. Jack waited for the sensations in the 
hand which will often tell whether the anchor is holding 
or not, and then rose, and in the moonlight which now 
began to break through the clouds his face looked anx- 
ious. “ Flat rock," he muttered, “ with a layer of mud 
on it." 

By this time the men had got control of the big 
anchor’s chain again and had knocked the kink out of it. 
But there was no room now to slip cables and sail off. 
The rocks were too close. The idea struck him of wind- 
ing in the first anchor a bit — in the hope that it might 
catch in a crack in the rock, or on a bowlder, before it got 
even with the second one. 

This proved of no use, and the yacht was now ap- 
proaching, stern-first, the point or outward rock of the 
reef which stood up boldly in the water. Only a few feet 
now separated this outside rock from the counter of the 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


143 

yacht. In two minutes more the stern would be dashing 
itself into matches. 

Jack’s brain, you may be sure, was on the keen look- 
out for expedients. He had the mainsail hoisted and the 
staysail flattened down to the port side — so as to back her 
head off. He hoped by this possibly to grind off the rocks 
by his sails after striking, and by then slipping his cables to 
get out into deep water before the stern was completely 
stove in. But while this was being done the thought 
came into his mind whether the stern might not clear the 
outer rock without hitting it. The changeable gusts of 
wind had been swinging the yacht sidewise — first a little 
one way and then a little the other. At the time he 
looked back at the yacht, they were just about near 
enough to strike when the wind shifted her a little toward 
the north, and for a moment the stern pointed clear of the 
outer rock. His first idea was that the wind was shifting 
permanently. But suddenly it came to him that this 
might be his only chance. He did not wait to command 
others, but flew to the anchor chains and threw off the 
coils. The yacht shot astern like the recoil of a cannon. 
He threw the chains clear of the windlass so that the ves- 
sel could dart backward without any check. It seemed 
a mad thing to do — to let both anchors go overboard — 
but it was a madness which when successful is called 
genius. It was genius to conceive and carry out the 
idea in an instant, and single handed, too, as if he were 
the only one on the boat, genius to know quickly enough 
exactly how the vessel would act. Half a dozen seconds 
sufficed to throw off the chains, and then he got back to 
the wheel, steering her as she went backward grazing her 
paint only against the rock, while the chains rushed out 
like a whirlwind over the bows. The staysail sheets had 
already been flattened down on the port side and the 
yacht’s head paid off fast on the port tack, while Jack 


144 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


rapidly slacked the main sheet well off, and as she gath- 
ered way and plunged out into the open channel, an un- 
derstanding of the quick idea that had saved the vessel 
trickled through the brains of the hired men. Instead of 
climbing to the rocks from a sinking yacht, as they ex- 
pected to be doing at this moment, here they were heading 
out into deep water again — with the old packet good as 
new. 

Cresswell called to the mate to keep her ‘^jogging 
around ” till he spoke to the owner about getting back 
the anchors, and then went below with the other men of 
the party who had remained on deck throughout the un- 
comfortable affair. 

The workers on deck, who looked like submarine 
divers, slipped out of their oil-skins and descended from 
the deck to the gay cabin below. Charley still continued 
to “ raise ” and get “ raised ” with a pertinacity which de- 
fied the elements. His game had had the effect of mak- 
ing his mother and the others think, in spite of their 
tremors, that the danger lay chiefly in their own minds, 
and, under the circumstances, Charley had no easy time 
of it. He had listened to every sound, and knew a 
good deal more about the proximity of the rocks, and the 
trouble generally, than any one would have supposed. 

He decided not to attempt to pick up the anchors that 
night, so they beat back to MacDonald’s Cove, where they 
entered, in the moonlight, and made fast for the night to 
some trees beside a steep rocky shore. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


145 


CHAPTER XII. 

Bassanio : So may the outward shows be least themselves ; 

The world is still deceived with ornament. 

In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, 

But, being seasoned with a gracious voice, 

Obscures the show of evil ? In religion, 

What dammed error, but some sober brow 
Will bless it, and approve it with a text. 

Hiding the grossness with fair ornament ? 

Salarino : My wind, cooling my broth. 

Would blow me to an ague when I thought 
What harm a wind too great might do at sea. 

. . . Should I go to church, 

And see the holy edifice of stone. 

And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks ? 

Merchant of Venice, 


When approaching from the west among picturesque 
islands and past wooded points of land, our old city of 
Kingston affords the traveler a pleasant scene. Above the 
blue and green expanse of her spacious harbor, the peni- 
tentiary with its high wall and surrounding turrets suggests 
the Canadian justice we are proud of ; and, further up, 
rises the asylum, suggestive only of Canadian lunacy, for 
which we do not claim pre-eminence, while beyond, some 
little spires and domes, sparkling in the sun, are seen over 
the tops of some English-looking stone residences, where 
the grassy lawns stretch down to the line of waves break- 
ing on the rocky shore. Further off one sees the vessel- 
masts along the ship-yards and docks ; here and there 
some small Martello forts try to look formidable; large 
vessels cross and recross the harbor, while others lie at 
anchor drying their sails ; and beyond all, on the hill at 
the back, rises the garrison walls, where — 

In spite of all temptation, 

Dynamite and annexation, 

10 


146 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


Canada is content, for the present at least, to see the Eng- 
lish flag instead of our own. 

As our friends came on deck the next morning (Sunday) 
they were able to enjoy this pleasant approach to Kingston. 
Mrs. Dusenall and others had wished to attend church if 
possible in the limestone city, and an early start had been 
made by the sailors long before the guests were awake. The 
wind came lightly from the southward, which allowed them 
to pick up the anchors without difficulty, and it took but a 
short time to sweep in past the city and “ come to ” off 
the barrack's wharf, where a gun was ceremoniously fired 
as the anchor was lowered from the catheads. 

Mrs. Dusenall piped all hands for divine service. 
They came out of the ark two by two and filed up the 
streets in that order until the church was reached. The 
boys came out in heavy marching order ” — Sunday coats, 
and all that sort of thing — which made avast change from 
the picturesque and rather buccaneer-like appearance they 
presented on the yacht. 

If a traveling circus had proceeded up the center aisle 
of the attractively decorated edifice, no greater curiosity 
could have been exhibited among the worshipers. Mrs. 
Dusenall had some of the imposing mien of a drum-major 
as she led her gallant band to seats at the head of the 
church, and Charley was justly proud of the fine appear- 
ance they made. He had surveyed them all with pleasure 
while on the sidewalk outside, and had paid the usher 
half a dollar to lead them all together to front seats. 
Walk as lightly as they could, it was impossible in the still- 
ness of the church to prevent their entrance from sounding 
like that of soldiery, and once the eyes of the worshipers 
rested on the noble troop they became fixed there for 
some time. There was a ruddy, bronzed look about the 
yachting men’s faces which, innocent of limestone dust, 
tended to deny the almost aggressive respectability which 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


147 


good tailoring and cruelty collars attempted to claim for 
them. In the hearts of the fair Kingstonians who glanced 
toward them there arose visions of lawn-tennis, boating, 
and buccaneer costumes suggested by that remarkably 
able-bodied and healthy appearance which a fashionable 
walk, bank trousers, and a gauzy umbrella may do much 
to modify but can not obliterate. As for the male devo- 
tees, it was touching to mark their interest in Margaret 
as she went up the aisle keeping step with the shortened 
pace of the long-limbed Geoffrey. The clergyman was 
just saying that the scriptures moved them in sundry 
places when all at once he became a mere cipher to them. 
After their first thrill at the beauty of her face, their eyes 
followed Margaret and that wonderful movement of hers 
that made her, as with a well-ordered regiment, almost as 
dangerous in the retreat as in the advance. But Nina 
came along close behind her, and those who, though dis- 
abled, survived the first volley were slaughtered to a 
man when the rich charms of her appearance won her a 
triumph all her own. Jack, walking by her side, full of 
gravity but happy, took in the situation with pride at 
her silent success. Then all the others followed, and 
when they were installed in a body in the three front 
pews, and after they had all bowed their heads and the 
gentlemen had carefully perused the legend printed in 
their hats — “Lincoln Bennett & Coy, Sackville Street, 
Piccadilly, London. Manufactured expressly for Jas. H. 
Rogers, Toronto and Winnipeg ” — they got their books 
open and admitted that they had done things they ought 
not to have done and that there was no health in them. 

The interior of the church was a luxury to the eye in 
its mellow coloring from stained-glass windows and care- 
fully-arranged lights, and in its banners, altar-cloths, em- 
broidery, and church millinery generally, it left little to 
be desired. The clergyman was a young unmarried off- 


148 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


spring of a high-church college who, with a lofty disre- 
gard for general knowledge, had acquired a great deal of 
theology. He it was who arranged that dim religious 
light about the altar and walled up a neighboring window 
so that the burning of candles seemed to become neces- 
sary. Never having been out of America, it was difficult 
to imagine where he acquired the ultra-English pronunci- 
ation that had all those flowing “ ah ” sounds which after 
a while make all words so pleasantly alike in the high- 
pitched reading of prayers when, it may be inferred, that 
word-meanings are perhaps of minor import. It seemed 
that he alone was, from the holiness of his office, qualified 
to enter that mysterious place at the head of the chan- 
cel where, with his back to the congregation, at stated 
times he went through certain genuflexions and other 
movements in which the general public did not partici- 
pate further than to admire the splendor of his back. The 
effect of the many mysteries on some of the Kingston men 
was to keep them away from the church. A few fathers 
of families and others came to please wives, sweethearts, 
or clients, and in the cool, agreeable edifice enjoyed some 
respectable slumber or watched the proceedings with mild 
curiosity or had their ears filled either with good music 
or the agreeable sound of the intoning. 

The effect of the little mysteries on the well-to-do 
women of the church (for it was no place for a poor man’s 
family) was varied. On the large-eyed, nervous, impres- 
sionable, and imaginative virgins — those who could always 
be found ready in the days of human sacrifices — the cler- 
gyman’s mysteries and the exercise of the power of the 
Church, as exhibited in the continual working of his 
strong will upon them, had of course the usual results in 
enfeebling their judgment and in rendering them very 
subservient. In the case of some unimaginative ma- 
trons and more level-headed girls these attractions did 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


149 


not unfit them for every-day life more than continual 
theatre-going, and they took a pride in and enjoyed a 
sense of quasi-ownership in the man whom it tickled 
their fancy to clothe in gorgeous raiment. To these solid, 
pleasure-loving, good-natured women, whose religion was 
inextricably mixed up with romance, the mysteries, side- 
shows, and formalities of their splendid protege brought 
satisfaction ; and in their social gatherings they discussed 
the doings of their favorite much as a syndicate of owners 
might, in the pride of ownership, discuss their horse. It 
may be pleasing to be identified with the supernatural, 
but one’s self-respect must need all such compensations 
to allow one to become a peg for admiring women to hang 
their embroidery on — to be largely dependent upon their 
gratuities, subject to some of their control, to put in, say, 
two fair days’ work in seven, and spend the rest in fiddle- 
faddle. 

“ There is but one God. What directly concerns you, 
my friends, is that Mohammed is his Prophet — to interpret 
the supernatural for you.” It would be interesting to find 
out if there ever existed a religion, savage or civilized, 
whose public proclamation did not contain a qualifying 
clause to retain the power in the priests. 

The sermon on this occasion was on the observance 
of the Sabbath. It contained much church law and 
theology, and in quotations from different saints who had 
lived at various periods during the dark ages, and whose 
sayings did not seem to be chosen so much on account of 
their force as for the weight given by the names of the 
saints themselves, which were delivered ore rotundo. But 
it is doubtful whether the most erudite quotation from 
obscure mediaeval saints is capable of carrying much con- 
viction to the hearts of a Canadian audience, and Jack 
and Charley had to be kicked into consciousness from an 
uneasy slumber. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


150 

From the saints the priest descended to Chicago, a 
transition which awoke several. And he sought to illus- 
trate the depravity of that city by commenting upon the 
large facilities there provided for Sabbath-breaking. He 
spoke of the street-cars he had seen there running on that 
day, and of the suburban trains that carried thousands of 
working-women and girls out of the city. He did not say 
that the cars were chiefly drawn by steam-power, nor that 
these poor, jaded, hollow-eyed girls worked harder in one 
day than he did in three weeks ; nor did he speak of the 
weak women’s hard struggle for existence in the life-con- 
suming factories ; nor of the freshness of the lake breezes 
in the spots where the trains dropped thousands of their 
overworked passengers. 

Margaret Mackintosh had seen these dragged, dust- 
choked, narrow-chested, smoke-dried girls, with all the 
bloom of youth gone from them, trying to make their drawn 
faces smile as they go off together in their clean, Sunday 
print dresses, too jaded for anything save rest and fresh 
air. She knew that any man not devoid of the true es- 
sence of Christ might almost weep in the fullness of his 
sympathy with them. But the young priest convicted 
them of sacrilege, and did not say he was thankful for 
being privileged to witness such a sight, or that Chicago 
existed to shame the more priest-ridden cities of Canada. 

When this story was concluded, Mrs. Dusenall, and 
many of her kind, and the unimpressionable girls looked 
acquiescence, because the words were backed by the 
Church, but their hearts went out to the poor sinners in 
Chicago. Only with those who took their mental bias 
from the priest did his words find solid resting-place. 
Geoffrey sat with an inmovable face, impossible to read. 
His subsequent remark to Margaret, when she had deliv- 
ered her opinions about the matter, was, however, charac- 
teristic. He said simply, as if deprecating her vehemence ; 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


15 


“ The man must live, you know, and how is he to live if 
people go out of town on Sunday.” To Geoffrey a short 
time was sufficient to satisfy him that the preacher ought 
to have lived in the days when mankind were saturated 
with belief in miracle and looked for explanation of events 
by miracle without dreaming of other explanation. 

During the next five minutes the sermon rather wan- 
dered from the subject, but fastened upon it again in an 
anecdote of an occurrence said to have taken place at an 
American seaport town, during the preacher’s visit there. 

Several young mechanics, instead of going to church one 
Sunday morning, had engaged a yawl, and also the fisher- 
men who owned it, to take them to a village on the coast 
and back again. It appeared from the account that for a 
day and a night the yawl had been blown away from the 
coast, and then that the wind had changed, so as to drive 
it back again ; and the story of the voyage naturally found 
attentive listeners among our yachting friends. 

“ All through that first terrible day, and all through 
the long, black night they were tossed about among the 
giant billows of a most tempestuous ocean. And what, 
dear friends, must have been the agony and remorse of 
those misguided young men when they thus realized the 
results of their deliberate breaking of the holy day. As 
they clung to the frail vessel, which reeled to and fro be- 
neath them like a drunken man, and which now alone * 
remained to possibly save them from a watery grave — as 
they perceived the billows breaking in upon that devoted 
ship, insomuch that it was covered with waves, what must 
have been their sensations? And when the wind sud- 
denly changed its direction and blew them with terrible 
force back again toward the rocky coast, we can imagine 
how earnestly they made their resolutions never again to 
transgress in this way. Once more, after a while, they 
saw the land again, and as they came closer they could 


152 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


discern the spires of those holy edifices which they had 
abandoned for the sake of forbidden pleasures and in 
which they were doomed never to hear the teachings of 
the Church again. There lay the harbor before them, as 
if in mockery of all their attempts to reach it ; and while 
raised on high in the air, on the summit of some white, 
mountainous billow, they could obtain a Pisgah-like view 
of those homes they were destined never again to enter.” 

Jack was broad awake now and wondering why, with 
the wind dead after them, the fishermen in charge of the 
boat could not make the harbor. 

“ Suddenly there came a great noise, which no doubt 
sounded like a death knell in the hearts of the terrified 
and exhausted young men. It was soon discovered that 
the mainsail of the ship had been blown away by the 
fury of the tempest. 

“Now what was their unhappy condition? How 
could they any longer strive to reach the longed-for haven 
when the mainsail of the yawl was blown away ? ” 

Jack shifted in his seat uncomfortably at this point. 
He was saying to himself ; “ Why not sneak in under a 
jib? Or even under bare poles? Or, if the harbor was 
intricate, why not heave to under the mizzen and signal 
for a tug ? ” Half a score of possibilities followed each 
other through his brain, which in sailing matters worked 
quickly. He always inclined from his early training to 
accept without question all that issued from the pulpit ; 
but this story bothered him. The instructor went on : 

“ Clearly there was now no hope for the devoted ves- 
sel. Even the anchor was gone ; the anchor of Hope, 
dear friends, was gone. The strong trustworthy anchor 
(in which mariners place so great confidence that it has 
become the type or symbol of Hope) was gone — washed 
overboard by the temptuous waves.” 

Charley here received a kick under the seat from Jack 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


153 


whose face was now filled with a blank incredulity, which 
showed that the influence of his early training had de- 
parted from him. 

In one way or another, the preacher succeeded in 
irritating some of the Ideal’s crew. He went on to say 
that the yawl was dashed to pieces on the rocks, and 
that only one man — a fisherman — survived ; from which 
he drew the usual moral. 

With three or four exceptions, our friends went out 
of church not as good-humored as when they came in 
Geoffrey alone seemed to have enjoyed himself. His 
heartfelt cynicism pulled him through. He said aloud to 
Mrs. Dusenall, when they were all together again, that he 
thought the preacher’s description of the perils of the 
deep was very beautiful. (Dead silence from Jack and 
Charley). Mrs. Dusenall concurred with him, and said it 
was wonderful how clergymen acquired so much general 
knowledge. 

Presently Charley, thoughtfully : “ Say, Jack, what 
was the matter with that boat, any way ? ” 

“ Blessed if I could find out,” said Jack 
Why ! did you not hear ? Her mainsail was gone,” 
said Geoffrey gravely, to draw Jack out. 

Well, who the deuce cares for a mains’l?” answered 
Jack, rising testily to the bait. “ The man does not know 
what he is — well, of course, he is a clergyman, but then, 
you know — my stars ! not make a port in broad daylight 
with the wind dead aft ! Perfectly impossible to miss it ! 
And, then the anchor — a fisherman’s anchor! — washed 
overboard ! ” 

Geoffrey persisted, more gravely, in a reproachful 
tone ; ‘‘You don’t mean to say, Jack, that you doubt that 
what a clergyman says is true ? ” 

The Misses Dusenall also looked at him very seri- 
ously. 


154 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


Jack was a candid young man, and had his religious 
views fixed, as it were, hereditarily. He looked at his 
boots, as if he would like to evade the question ; but, see- 
ing no escape, he came out with his answer like parting 
with his teeth. 

“ When the parson,” he said with stolid determination, 
“ goes in for mediaeval saints, I don’t interfere. He can 
forge ahead and I won’t try to split his wind. But when 
he talks sailing he must talk sense. No, sir ! I do not 
believe that story — and no Angel Gabriel would make 
me* 

There was a force behind his tones of conviction 
which amused some of his hearers. 

“Jack Cresswell ! You surprise me,” said Geoffrey 
loftily. 

After lunch the ladies went up into the city to visit 
some friends, and the men were lying about under the 
awning, chatting, smoking, and sipping claret. 

“ Well, there was one thing about that boat that 
caused the entire disturbance,” said Charley, sagaciously. 
“ I’ve thought the whole thing out ; and I put down the 
trouble to the usual cause — and that is — whisky. When 
the fishermen found there was liquor on board they 
‘ steered for the open sea,’ and when they were all stark, 
staring, blind drunk they went ashore.” 

“ I fancy you have solved the difficulty,” said Mr. 
Lemons. “ The preacher did not, somehow, seem to get 
hold of me. My notion is that he should come down to 
your level and help you up — like those Arab chaps that 
lug and butt you up the Pyramids — not stand at the top 
and order you to climb.” 

“Just so,” said Geoffrey. “A speaker must in some 
way make his listeners feel at home with him, just as a 
novel, to sell well, must contain some one touch of nature 
that makes the whole world kin. The sympathies must be 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


55 


excited. In books accepted by gentle folk the ‘‘one 
touch " of attractive and primitive nature is refined, and 
in this shape it is called poetry — in this shape it creates 
vague and pleasant wonderings, especially in the minds of 
those whose fancies are capable of no higher intellectual 
flight. When we see that people so universally seek pro- 
ductions in which nature is only more or less disguised, we 
seem to understand man better.” 

“What are you trying to get at now asked Jack, 
with a smiling show of impatience. 

“ W''hy,” said Hampstead, “ take the work of the spright- 
liest modern novel writers — say, for instance, Besant and 
Rice. Deduct the fun from their books and the shadowy 
plot, and what remains ? A girl — a fresh, young, innocent 
girl — who, with her beautiful face and figure, charms the 
heart. She does not do much, and (with William Black) 
she says even less ; but the people in the book are all in love 
with her, and the reader becomes, in a second-hand and 
imaginative way, in love with her also. She is quiet, lady- 
like, and delicious ; her surroundings assist in creating an 
interest in her ; but in the dawn and development of love 
within her lies the chief interest of most readers. The 
mind concentrates itself without effort when lured by any 
of our earlier instincts. What we want is a definition as 
to what degree of careful mental exertion is worthy of be- 
ing dignified by the name of “ thought,” as distinguished 
from that sequence of ideas, without exertion, which is 
sufficient in all animals for daily routine and the carrying 
out of instinct.” 

“ There are some of your ideas, Hampstead, which do 
not seem to promise improvement to anybody,” said Jack. 

“ And, for you, the worst thing about them is that they 
have a semblance of truth,” replied Hampstead. 

“ Sometimes — yes,” admitted Jack. “ But I would not 
excuse you because they happened to be true. The only 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


156 

way I excuse you is because, after your scientific mud- 
groveling, you sometimes point higher than others. Are 
we to understand, then, that you object to novel reading 
on moral grounds ?” 

Don’t be absurd. A novel may be all that it should 
be. I am stating what I take to be facts, and I think it in- 
teresting to consider why we enjoy what ladies call ‘ a 
good love-story.* You will notice that people who adopt 
an over-ascetic and unnatural life and do not seek nature, 
give up reading " good love-stories.’ Perhaps they vaguely 
realize that the difference in the interest created by Black’s 
insipid Yolande and Byron’s Don Juan is merely one of 
degree.” 

“Now, will you be so good as to say candidly what 
gain you or any one else ever received from thinking in 
such channels as these?” inquired Jack, with impatience. 

“Certainly. It keeps me from transcendentalism — 
from being led off into vanity — thoughts about my immor- 
tality—” 

“Surely,” interrupted Jack, “the aspirations of one’s 
soul are sufficient to convince us that we will live again.” 

“ Jack, a man’s soul is simply his power of imagining 
and desiring what he hasn’t got. Once a day, more or 
less, his soul imagines immortality. The rest of the time 
it imagines his sweetheart. If a poet, his soul combines 
the two. Or else it is the mighty dollar, or hunting, or 
something else. Shall all his aspirations toward nature 
go for nothing ? His soul will conjure up his sweetheart 
nine thousand times for one thought of his future state. 
Because he has acquired neither. If he had acquired 
either, he would soon be quite as certain that there was 
something still better in store for him. With our minds as 
active and refined as they are, it would be quite impossible 
for men to do otherwise than have their imaginings about 
souls and immortality. These make no proof ; the savage 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


157 

has none of them ; and if they were proof, whither do 
man’s aspirations chiefly point ? To earth or to heaven ? ” 
‘‘Well, I suppose your answer,” said Jack, “is sufficient 
for yourself. You study science, then, to persuade your- 
self that when you die you will remain teetotally dead ? ” 
“ Rather to make myself content with a truth which is 
different from and not so pleasant as that which we are 
taught in early life.” 

“ For goodness’ sake,” cried Mr. Lemons, yawning, 
“pass the claret.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Visam Britannos hospitibus feros. 

Horace, Lid. 3, Carnt. 4. 

Mrs. Dusenall liked the visit to Kingston. She was 
proud of the appearance her guests and family made at 
the church, and she thought of going home and writing 
a book as prodigal of pretty woodcuts and fascinating 
price-lists as those published by other gilded ladies. True, 
she had with her no young children wherewith to awake 
interest in foreign places by detailing what occurred in the 
ship’s nursery ; and thus she might have been driven to 
say something about the foreign places themselves, which, 
in a book of travels, are perhaps of secondary importance 
when a whole gilded family may be studied in their inter- 
esting retirement. 

They kept a log on the Ideal, and each one had to 
take his or her turn at keeping the account of the cruise 
posted up to date. 

Some events on board or near the Ideal did not come 
under. Mrs. Dusenall’s notice and did not appear in the 
log-book. Nobody flirted with Mrs. Dusenall to make 
her experience exciting,* and her book, if written, would 


158 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


have been one long panorama of landscape interlarded 
with the mildest of items. But compress your world even 
to the size of a yacht, and there will be still more going 
on, in the same eternal way, than any one person can 
observe, especially if that person happens to be a chaperon. 

The first evening among the islands was spent in 
different ways. Some paddled about to explore or bathe. 
Flirtation of a mild type was prevalent — interesting pos- 
sibly to the parties concerned, and, as usual, to them- 
selves only. Toward dusk the gig was manned by the 
crew for the transportation of Mrs. Dusenall and part 
of her suite across the river through the islands to the 
hotels at Alexandria Bay on the American shore. The 
hotel guests on the balconies and verandas were continu- 
ing to enjoy or endure that eternal siesta which at these 
places seems to be quite unbroken save at meal times, 
and the arrival of a number of very presentable people in 
a handsome gig, rowed in the man-of-war style by uni- 
formed sailors and steered by a person with a gold-lace 
badge on his cap, created a ripple of interest. Among 
those on the verandas engaged, perhaps overtaxed, in the 
digestion of their dinners, not a few were slightly interested 
by what they saw. In a group of a dozen or more a gen- 
tleman behind a solitaire shirt-stud, worth a good year’s 
salary for a Victoria Bank clerk seemed to be speaking 
the thoughts of the party, though his words came out 
chiefly as a form of soliloquy. He seemed to be taking a 
sort of admiring inventory of the gig and its occupants as 
it approached the landing wharf : 

“ Small sailor boy — standing in the bow — with a spear 
in his hand.” 

It was a boat-hook in the boy’s hand, but it might 
have been a trident. 

“ He’s real cunnin’ — that boy — in his masquerade suit. 
Four sailors — also in masquerade costume. And they 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


59 


can make her hump up the river, sure’s-yer-born. Now I 
wonder who those fellows are — in buttons — with gold 
badges on their hats. Wonder what those badges might 
imply ! Part of the masquerade, I guess. But stylish — 
very.” 

Then, turning to a friend, he said : 

Cha’ley, those people are yachting round here.” 

At this discovery the exhausted-looking refugee from 
overwork in some city addressed as “ Cha’ley,” whose face 
was lit up solely by a cigar, answered slowly but de- 
cisively ! 

Looks like it — very.” 

Then followed a quick mental calculation in the head 
of the gentleman behind the solitaire, and, as the boat 
came alongside the landing, the oars being handled with 
trained accuracy, he said : 

“ I wonder how many of those paid men they have on 
board. I like it. I like the whole thing. I shall do it 
myself next summer. And right up to the handle. Cha’- 
ley, bet you half a dollar that those are first-class gentle- 
men and ladies down there, and we ought to go down and 
receive them.” 

“Why, certainly,” said the other in grave, staccato 
tones, which seemed to deny the exhaustion of his appear- 
ance by indicating some internal strength. “James,” he 
added in solemn self-reproach, “we should have been 
down — on the landing — to assist the ladies from their 
canoe.” 

As they left the veranda several ladies called after 
them : 

“ Mr. Cowper, we would be pleased to have you bring 
the ladies up.” 

Mr. Cowper bowed with gravity, but did not say any- 
thing, as he was preparing within him his form of self- 
introduction. 


j5o GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 

In a few moments Mr. Cowper and Mr. Withers met 
our party as they slowly meandered up the ascent toward 
the hotel. Mr. Cowper, hat in hand, gave them collect- 
ively a bow, which, if somewhat foreign in its nature, was 
not without dignity, and he addressed them with unmistak- 
able hospitality, while Mr. Withers, by a flank movement, 
attacked the left wing of the party, where he conducted a 
little reception of his own. 

Mr. Cowper said, “ How do you do, ladies and gentle- 
men ? ” 

Mrs. Dusenall bowed and smiled, and the others, won- 
dering what was coming, bowed also as they caught Mr. 
Cowper’s encompassing eye. “We regret,” he said, look- 
ing toward Geoffrey, to whom he was more especially at- 
tracted on account of his cap-badge and greater stature. 
“ We regret, captain, that we did not notice your arrival 
in time to be on the landing to assist the ladies from your 
canoe.” 

Geoffrey’s smile only indicated his gratification and had 
no reference to Mr. Cowper’s new name for the yacht’s 
gig- 

“We are only guests in the hotel ourselves, but if we 
had known of your coming some of us certainly would 
have been down to receive you in the proper manner.” 

What “proper manner” of reception Mr. Cowper had 
in his head it is difflcult to say. His words showed Mrs. 
Dusenall, however, that he was not the custom-house 
officer or the hotel-keeper, which relieved her of some 
anxiety lest she should make a mistake. At a slight pause 
in his flow of language she thanked him in her most re- 
assuring accents, and continued in those suave tones and 
with that perfect self-possession, with which the English 
duchess, her head a little on one side and chin upraised, 
has been supposed carelessly to assert her person, crown, 
and dignity. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


l6l 


"I assure you,” she said, “that we are only knocking 
about, as it were, quite informally, from place to place in 
the yacht.” 

“ Quite informally,” echoed Geoffrey, who was enjoy- 
ing Mrs. Dusenall. 

She added : “ So, of course, we could not think of 
allowing you to give yourselves any trouble on our ac- 
count.” 

In what pageantry Mrs. Dusenall proceeded when not 
traveling quite informally Mr. Cowper did not give him- 
self the trouble to consider. The thought came to him 
that he might be entertaining an English duchess unawares, 
but the succeeding consciousness that he could probably 
buy up this duchess “ and her whole masquerade ” forti- 
fied him as with triple brass. 

“ Madam,” he said, with that distinctness and intensity 
with which Americans convey the impression that they 
mean what they say, “ if we have neglected you and your 
friends at first, we will be pleased if you will allow us now 
to try to make your visit attractive.” 

Mrs. Dusenall thought this was assuming a heavy re- 
sponsibility. 

“ If you will come up on the pe-az-a, there are a num- 
ber of real nice ladies who would be most pleased to meet 
you.” 

Several of the party began to think that the cares of 
“ knocking about quite informally ” were about to com- 
mence. But as there was no escape, and all smiled pleas- 
antly, and Mr. Cowper conversed as he and Mr. Withers 
led them up to the “ pe-az-a.” He was gratified at the 
way they responded to his endeavors ; and perhaps he 
w'as not without a latent wish to show his hotel friends 
how perfectly at home he was in “ first-class British so- 
ciety.” 

“There is always something going on here/’ he said ; 

II 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


162 

and if there is nothing on just now we will get up some- 
thing real pleasant— or my name’s not Cowper.” 

This hint as to his identity was not thrown away, and 
as it seemed more than likely that they were about to be 
entertained immediately by this gentleman behind the soli- 
taire headlight, it occurred to Geoffrey that it would be as 
well for the party to know what his name was. 

“Mr. Cowper, let me introduce you to Mrs. Du- 
senall.” 

This quickness on Geoffrey’s part relieved Mr. Cowper 
from any difficulty in mentioning his own name. Mrs. 
Dusenall then introduced him in a general way to the re- 
mainder of the party. To Miss Dusenall it was impossible 
for him to do more than bow, as she was chilling in her 
demeanor. She had received, as has been hinted, that 
final distracting finishing polish which an English school 
is expected to give, and she sought to be so entirely Eng- 
lish as not to know what cosmopolitan courtesy was. 

Margaret’s face, however, gave Mr. Cowper encour- 
agement and pleasure, and, as he shook hands warmly 
with her, something in her appearance gave a new spur 
to his hospitable intentions. The energy of a new nation 
seemed bottled up within him, as he said to Margaret : 

“ If I can’t get up something here to make you enjoy 
yourself, why — why don’t believe in me any more.’’ 

His evident but respectful admiration could only elicit 
a laugh and a blush. It was impossible to resist Mr. 
Cowper in his energetic intention to be host, and, in spite 
of his dazzling headlight, the national generosity and for- 
getfulness of self were so apparent in him that Margaret 
“ took to him ’’ in a way that mystified the other girls, who 
regarded the headlight only as a warning beacon placed 
there by Providence to preserve young ladies with an 
English boarding-school finish from undesirable associa- 
tions. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


163 


Mr. Cowper was what is called “ self-made ” — a word 
that in the States conveys with it no implied slur — for the 
simple reason that there is not the same necessity for it as 
in England. Speaking generally, an American has a 
generous consideration for women and a largeness of 
character, or rather an absence of smallness, not yet suffi 
ciently recognized as national characteristics. He is gen- 
erally the same man after “ making his pile ” as before — 
not always fully acquainted, perhaps, with social veneer, 
but kind, keen, and generous to a fault. It would be an 
insult to such a one to compare him with the “ self-made ” 
Englishman, whose rude pretension of superiority to those 
poorer than himself, truckling servility to rank and posi- 
tion, and ignorance of everything outside his own business 
render him very unlovely. 

“ Now,” said Mr. Cowper, when he had been intro- 
duced to them all. “ Now,” he said, we’re all solid. We 
will just step up-stairs, if you please.” He looked at them 
all pleasantly as he offered his arm to assist Mrs. Dusen- 
all’s ascent. When they arrived on the veranda above, 
his idea was that, in order to bring about the perfect con- 
cord he desired to see, individual introductions were neces- 
sary. To Mrs. Dusenall he introduced a large number of 
lean girls and stout women, ninety per cent of whom said 
“ pleased to meet you,” and Mrs. Dusenall, appearing, 
with surprising activity of countenance, to be freshly grati- 
fied at each introduction, quite won their hearts. 

But when Mr. Cowper commenced to introduce them 
all over again to Margaret, that young person, not being 
afraid of women, rebelled, and, touching his arm to stay 
his impetuous career, said: “ Oh, no, it will take too long. 
Let me do it. Then she turned to the company. “ As 
Mr. Cowper says, my name is Mackintosh,” and she ducked 
them a sort of old-fashioned courtesy. The company 
bowed — some smiling and some solemn at her audacity. 


164 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


“ And very much at your service,” she added, as she 
dipped again to the solemn ones — capturing them also. 
Then she turned to the others. “ And this is Miss Dusen- 
all,” and so-and-so, and so-and-so, until they were all 
made known. 

“ And this is Morry,” she said lastly, taking the little 
man by the coat-sleeve. “ Make your bow, Morry.” 

Rankin remained gazing on the ground until she shook 
him by the sleeve. Then he took a swift, scared glance 
at the assembly, and said, “I’m shy,” and hid his head 
behind tall Margaret’s shoulder. This absurdity amused 
the American girls, and five or six of them, forgetting 
their stiffness, crowded around to encourage him. A 
beaming matron came up to Margaret and took her kindly 
by the elbows. 

“ I must kiss you, my dear. You did that so charm- 
ingly.” 

“ Indeed, it’s very kind of you to say so,” replied Mar- 
garet, as she received an affectionate salute. “ Long in- 
troductions are so tiresome, are they not ? ” 

“ They do take time, my dear,” said the motherly 
person, as they sat down together. 

“Yes, time and introductions should be taken by the 
forelock,” smiled Margaret. 

“Just what you did, my dear. I do wish I had a 
daughter like you. Oh my ! ” And the little woman’s face 
grew long for a moment at some sad recollection. An 
interesting episode of family sorrow would have been 
confided to Margaret if they had not been interrupted by 
the arrival of four tall young men, in company with Mr. 
Withers. The grave, worn-out face of Mr. Withers had 
just a flicker in it as his strong ratchet-spring voice ad- 
dressed itself to our party : 

“ Mrs. Dusenall and friends, permit me to introduce 
to you the * Little Frauds.’ ” 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


165 

The four tall young men bowed with the usual gravity, 
and then mixed with the company. They wore untanned 
leather and canvas shoes, dark-blue stockings, light-colored 
knickerbocker trousers, and leather belts. Navy-blue flan- 
nel shirts, with white silk anchors on the broad collars, 
completed their costume, with the exception of black neck- 
ties and stiff white linen caps with horizontal leather peaks. 
Taken as a whole, their costume was such a happy com- 
bination of a baseball player’s and a Pullman-car con- 
ductor’s that the brain refused to believe in the maritime 
occupation suggested by the white anchors. 

Mr. Withers explained who they were. 

“The Little Frauds,” he said, “are a party of young 
men who live together in a kind of small shanty on one of 
the neighboring islands. Although the locality is pictur- 
esque, they do not live here during the winter, but only 
migrate to these parts when — well, when I suppose no 
other place will have them. They come here every year 
to enjoy the solitude of a hermit-life. Here they with- 
draw themselves from their fellow-man, and more espe- 
cially their fellow-woman.” 

The gentlemen referred to were taking no manner of 
notice of Mr. Withers, and in their chatter with the girls 
were not living up to their character. 

“ The reason why they are called ‘ Little Frauds ’ has 
now almost ceased to be handed down by the voice of 
tradition,” continued Mr. Withers. “ It is not because 
they are intrinsically more deceptive than other men. No 
man who had any deception in his nature would go round 
with a leg like this without resorting to artifice to improve 
its shape.” 

Mr. Withers here picked up a blue-covered pipestem 
which served one of the Frauds with the means of loco- 
motion. 

“ That, ladies and gentlemen,” said Mr. Withers, slow- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


1 66 

ly, in the tone of a lecturer, and poising the limb in his 
hand, “ is essentially the leg of a hermit. If for no other 
reason than to hide that leg from the public, its owner, 
ladies, should become a hermit." 

The leg here became instinct with life, and Mr. With- 
ers suddenly stepped back and gasped for breath. Then 
he explained further : 

“ Seeing that the origin of the name is now almost lost 
in obscurity, the Little Frauds themselves have lately taken 
advantage of this fact, ladies, to palm off upon the public 
a spurious version of the story. They say, in fact, that 
because they systematically withdrew themselves into a 
life of celibacy and retirement, and being, as they claim, 
very desirable as husbands, this name was given to them 
as being frauds upon the matrimonial market." 

Somebody here called out : “ Oh, dry up. Withers ! " 

Mr. Withers took a glass of champagne from one of the 
v/aiters passing with a tray and did quite the reverse. He 
took two gulps, threw the rest over the railing, and con- 
tinued : 

“ One glance, ladies, at these people, who are really 
outcasts from society, will satisfy you that their explana- 
tion of the term is as palpably manufactured as the manu- 
scripts of Mr. Shapira — " 

“ Mister who ? " inquired a profane voice. 

“ Unaccustomed as they are to the usages of polite so- 
ciety, ladies, you will excuse any utterances on their part 
that might seem intended to interrupt my discourse. The 
real reason of this ridiculous name is as follows — " 

Here, a remarkably good-looking Fraud stood up be- 
fore Mr. Withers and obliterated him. He spoke in a 
voice something like a corn-craik : 

“ We commissioned Mr. Withers to speak to you, Mrs. 
Dusenall, and to your party, on a topic of great interest to 
ourselves, but as the night is likely to pass before Mr. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 1 67 

Withers gets to the point, we will have to dispense with his 
services.” 

Mr. Withers had already retired behind his cigar again, 
with the air of a man who had acquitted himself pretty 
well. 

The Frauds then begged leave to invite by word of 
mouth all our party to a dance next evening on their island. 

Mrs. Dusenall accepted for all, as she rose to go, sug- 
gesting, at the same time, that perhaps some of her new 
friends, if they did not think it too late, would accompany 
them across the water in the moonlight to examine their 
yacht. 

After some conversation, a number went with Mrs. 
Dusenall in the gig, while Margaret and the rest of bur 
party were ferried over by Frauds and others in their long 
and comfortable row-boats. 

Some more champagne was broached on the yacht, 
but Mr. Withers said he remembered once, early in life, 
drinking some of the old rye whisky of Canada, and 
that since then he had always sought for annexation with 
that delightful country. 

To the surprise of Mrs. Dusenall, both he and all the 
“ Melican men ” took rye whisky, and ignored her cham- 
pagne. 

The dismay of Mr. Cowper on hearing that the yacht 
would depart on the morning after the Frauds’ dance was 
unfeigned. He said it “broke him all up.” 

“Just when we were getting everything down solid for 
a little time together,” he said. 

Mrs. Dusenall explained that the yacht was to take 
part in a race at Toronto in a few days, and must be on 
hand to defend her previously won laurels. 

“Well, Mrs. Dusenall,” said Mr. Cowper thoughtfully, 
“I have myself, over there in the bay, a small smoke- 
grinder that — ” ^ 


i68 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


“A — what? " inquired Mrs. Dusenall. 

“ A steamboat, madame — a small steam-yacht. Noth- 
ing like this, of course. He waved his hand airily as if 
he considered himself in a floating palace. “But very 
comfortable, I do assure you. Now, if you are going away 
so soon, the only thing I can do is to get you all to visit 
the different islands round here in my steam-barge. I call 
her the old roadster, madame, because she can’t do her 
mile in better than three minutes.” 

As this represented a speed of twenty miles an hour, 
Mrs. Dusenall said it was fast enough for her. If he could 
have got a steamboat fast enough to beat the best trotting 
record Mr. Cowper would have been content. 

It was settled that at eleven o’clock next day the 
steamer should call and take the whole party off to visit 
the islands; and he suggested that, as there would be “a 
sandwich or something” on the boat, Mrs. Dusenall need 
not think about a return to the Ideal for luncheon. 

He then gravely addressed himself to the four Frauds 
and to Mr. Withers : 

“ Gentlemen, before we leave this elegant vessel, I wish 
to remind you that no real old Canadian rye whisky will 
pass our lips again until such a chance as this once more 
presents itself. Gentlemen^ as this is the last drink we 
will have to-night, we will, with Mrs. Dusen all’s permis- 
sion, make ready our glasses, and we will dedicate and 
consecrate this toast to the success of the Ideal and her 
delightful crew. Mrs. Dusenall — ladies and gentlemen of 
the Ideal — this toast is not only to celebrate our new ac- 
quaintance, which we hope may have in the future more 
chances to ripen into intimacy (and which on our part 
will never be forgotten), but we drink it also for another 
reason — for another less worthy reason — and I can not 
disguise from you the fact that, to speak plainly, we like 
the liquor, Madame, the gentlemen of the Ideal have 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


169 


consented to come back with me now, to smoke just one 
cigar on the hotel before we all retire for the night. Citi- 
zens of the United States, Frauds, and others, as this is 
the last drink we are to have to-night, we will drink the 
toast in silence.” 

The gravity of the Americans is a huge national sham, 
throwing into relief their humor and sunshiny good-will, 
as in a picture a somber gray background throws up the 
high lights. 

In half an hour more all the men were back at the 
hotel with Mr. Cowper; but, instead of pursuing the tran- 
quil occupation of smoking a cigar, as he proposed, they 
were led in and confronted with a banquet in which the 
extensive resources of the hotel had been taxed to the 
utmost. 

Mr. Cowper called it the “ little something to eat,” as 
he pressed them to come from the verandas into the hotel. 
But really it was a magnificent affair, and, as Mr. Lemons, 
who was eloquent on the subject, said, it was calculated to 
appeal to a man’s most delicate sensibilities. 

We will not follow them any further on this evening. 
Mr. Cowper’s idea was to all have a good time together — 
banish stiffness, promote intimacy, and to drive to the 
winds all cares. He certainly succeeded, for at twelve 
o’clock there was not a “ Mister ” in the room for any- 
body. At one o’clock it was Jack, old man,” and “ Cow- 
per, old chappie,” all round. At two o’clock the friend- 
ship on all sides was not only hermetically sealed, but 
it promised to be eternal, and after that, it was thought the 
night was a little dark for Charley Dusenall to return 
with the others to the yacht, so he remained at the hotel 
till morning. 


70 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

Ferdinand : ... Full many a lady 
I have eyed with best regard ; and many a time 
The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage 
Brought my too diligent ear ; for several virtues 
Have I liked several women ; never any 
With so full a soul but some defect in her 
Did quarrel with the noblest grace she owed, 

And put it to the foil ; but you, O you 
So perfect and so peerless, are created 
Of every creature’s best. 

The Tempest. 

The “ old roadster ” had a busy time of it the next 
morning preparing for the visit to the islands. She was 
steaming up and down the river for a long while before 
our friends knew it was time to get up. At eleven o’clock 
she took on board the Canadians, and away they went — 
not at “better” than twenty miles an hour, but pretty 
fast. Mr. Cowper’s hint that the Ideal was magnificent in 
its fittings had pleased the Dusenalls. They thought he 
had been somewhat impressed by a swinging chandelier 
over the cabin table. Mr. Cowper had examined this, 
found it did not contain the last improvements, said it was 
splendid, and the Dusenalls were pleased. But their pleas- 
ure was damped when they were led into the main cabin 
of the “ old roadster.” The crimson silk-plush cushions 
covering the divan around the apartment, into which 
they sank somewhat heavily, did not at first afford them 
complete repose. The window curtains and portieres 
throughout the vessel were all of thick corded silk or silk 
plush. The walls and ceilings in the cabins were simply 
a museum of the rarest woods, and in the main cabin was 
a little tiled fireplace with brass dogs and andirons, its 
graceful curtains reined in with chains. The cabins alone 
had cost a fortune, and the Dusenalls were for once com- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


171 

pletely taken aback. Mrs. Dusenall did not get her head 
over on one side a la duchesse any more that day, and it 
ended in her coming to the conclusion that Americans in 
their hospitalities may frequently have no other motive 
than to give pleasure. This could only be realized by 
Britons able to denationalize themselves so far as to 
understand that there may be a life on earth which is not 
alternate patronage and sponging. It is to be feared 
though that most of them receive attentions from Ameri- 
cans only as that which should, in the ordinary course of 
things, be forthcoming from a people blessed with a proper 
power to appreciate those excellent qualities of head and 
heart with which the visitor represents his incomparable 
nation. 

Mr. Cowper did not do things by halves. As they sped 
about among the many islands the strains of harps and 
violins came pleasantly from some place about the boat 
where the musicians could not be seen. A number of 
people from the hotels and islands were also among Mr. 
Cowper’s guests, and Mr. Withers, as a sort of aid-de- 
camp, assisted the host in bringing everybody together and 
in seeing that the colored waiters with trays of iced liquids 
did their duty. One room down below was reserved for 
the inspection of “ the boys,” a room which had received 
a good deal of personal attention and in which any drink 
known to the civilized world could be procured. Mr, 
Withers confidentially invited our friends to name any- 
thing liquid under the sun they fancied — from nectar to 
nitric acid. For himself, he said that “ that champagne 
and stuff ” going round on deck was not to his taste, and 
he had the deft-handed “ barkeep ” mix one of his own 
cocktails. His own invention in this direction was com- 
posed of eight or ten ingredients, and the Canadians were 
polite enough to praise the mixture ; but, afterward, when 
among themselves, Jack’s confession met with acquies- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


172 

cence when he said it seemed nothing but hell-fire and 
bitters. 

The long, narrow craft threaded its tortuous way like a 
smooth-gliding fish through the little channels between 
the islands, passing up small natural harbors or coming 
alongside a precipitous rock. They several times disem- 
barked to see how much art had assisted nature on the 
different islands, and viewed the fishponds, summer houses, 
awnings, and hammocks, and the taste displayed in the 
picturesque dwellings. Mr. Cowper’s assurances that the 
owners of the islands would not object to be caught in 
any kind of occupation or garment were corroborated by 
the warm welcomes extended to them. Such is the freedom 
of the American citizen, that a good many of the islanders 
who heard Mr. Cowper was having a picnic “ guessed they’d 
go along, too.” It was evidently expected that they would 
do just as they liked, without being invited ; in fact, Mr. 
Cowper loudly objected in several cases, declaring he had 
no provisions for them. “ Never mind, old man, we’re 
not proud. We’ll whack up with your last crust, and 
bring a pocket-flask for ourselves.” 

This seemed friendly. 

Of course the lunch, which was found to be spread 
under a large marquee on a distant island, was really an- 
other banquet. The hotel retinue had been up all night 
preparing for it. The waiters, glass, table-linen, flowers, 
and everything else showed what money could do in the 
way of transformation scenes. The only fault about it was 
that it was too magnificent for a picnic. It can not be a 
picnic when there is no chance of eating sand with your 
game-pie, no chance of carrying pails of water half a mile, 
no difficulty in keeping stray cows, dogs, and your own feet 
out of the table-cloth spread upon the ground. And when 
the trip in the steamer had ended and most of our crew 
were having a little doze on the Ideal during the latter 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


173 

part of the afternoon, the curiosity which Mr. Cowper had 
awakened was still at its height. 

After dinner that evening, about eight o’clock, a pretty 
picture might have been made of the Ideal, as she lay in 
the shadows, moored to a well-wooded island where the 
rock banks seemed to dive perpendicularly into blue 
fathomless depths. The party were taking their coffee in 
the open air for greater coolness, and all had arrayed them- 
selves for the dance in the evening. The delicately shaded 
muslins and such thin fabrics as the ladies wore blended 
pleasantly with the soft evening after-glow that fell upon 
the rustling trees and running water. Seated on the over- 
hanging rocks beside the yacht, or perched up on the 
stowed mainsail, they not only supplied soft color to the 
darkling evening hues, but seemed to have a glow of their 
own, and reminded one of Chinese lanterns lit before it 
is dark. This may have been only a fancy, helped 
out by radiant faces and the slanting evening lights, but, 
even if the simile fails, they were certainly prepared to 
shine as brightly as they knew how at the ball later on. 

The little bass-wood canoe, with its comfortable rugs 
and cushions, lay beside the yacht, bobbing about in the 
evening breeze, and Margaret sat dreamily watching its 
wayward movements. 

** A penny for your thoughts ? ” asked somebody. 

I was thinking,” answered Margaret, that the canoe 
is the only craft that ought to be allowed in these waters, 
and that the builders of houses on these islands ought to 
realize that the only dwelling artistically correct should be 
one that either copies or suggests the wigwam. No one 
can come among these islands without wondering how 
long the Indians lived here. All the Queen Anne archi- 
tecture we have seen to-day has seemed to me to be alto- 
gether misplaced.” 

‘‘What you suggest could hardly be expected here,” 


174 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


said Geoffrey, “because, putting aside the difficulty of 
building a commodious house which would still resemble a 
wigwam, there remains the old difficulty of getting people 
to see in imagination what is not before them — the old 
difficulty that gave us the madonnas, saints, and heroes 
as Dutch, Italian, or English, according to the nationality 
of the painter. Of all the pictures of Christ scattered over 
Europe, none that I have seen could have been like a per- 
son living much in the open air of the Holy Land. They 
will paint Joseph as brown as the air there will make any- 
body, because it does not matter about Joseph, but the 
Christs are always ideal." 

“ Still, I am sure something might be done to carry out 
my idea," said Margaret, keeping to the subject, “ Surely 
localities have the same right to be illustrated according 
to their traditions that nations have to expect that their 
heroes shall be painted so as to show their nationality. 
No one would paint the Arab desert and leave out the 
squat black tent, the horse, and all the other adjuncts of 
the Bedouin. Why, then, build Queen Anne houses in a 
place where the mind refuses to think of anything but 
the Indian?" 

’ “ Perhaps," said Hampstead, “ the case here is unique. 
It is difficult to find a parallel. But the same idea 
would present itself if one attempted to build an Eng- 
lish church in the Moorish style instead of the Gothic 
or something similar. I fancy that the subscribers would 
feel that the traditions of their race and native land 
were not being properly represented, as you say, in their 
architecture — that they would resent an Oriental luxury of 
outline suggesting only Mohammed’s luxurious religion, and 
that nothing would suit them but the high, severe, and 
moral aspect of their own race, religion, and churches. 
By the way, did you ever consider how the moral alti- 
tude of each religion throughout the world is indelibly 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


175 


Stamped in the very shape of each one’s houses of worship. 
Begin at the whimsical absurdities of the Chinese, and 
come westward to the monstrosities of India, then to the 
voluptuous domes of the Moor and the less voluptuous 
domes of Constantinople, then to the still less Oriental 
domes of Rome, then to the fortress-like rectangular Nor- 
man, then to the lofty, refined, severe, upward-pointing 
Gothic of Germany and England. Each church along the 
whole line, by its mere external shape, will tell of Ithe 
people and religion that built it better than a host of 
words.” 

“ If that be so, it would seem like retrograding in 
architecture to suggest the Indian wigwam here,” said 
Jack. “What do you say, Margaret?” 

“ I think that this is not a place where national aspira- 
tions in monuments need be looked for. Its claims must 
always be on the side of simple nature and the pictur- 
esque — a place for hard workers to recuperate in, and, 
therefore, the poetry of all its early traditions should in 
every way be protected and suggested.” 

“ Of course, I suppose. Miss Margaret, the Indian you 
wish to immortalize is John Eenimore Cooper’s Indian, 
and that you have no reference to Batoche half-breeds. 
Perhaps after a while we may see the genius of this place 
suggested further, but I think the Americans have had 
too much trouble in exterminating ‘Lo, the poor Indian’ 
to wish to be reminded of his former existence, and that 
the savagery of Queen Anne is sufficient for them. * Lo * 
has, for them, no more poetry than a professional tramp. 
Out West, you know, they read it * Loathe the poor 
Indian.’ ” 

“ They don’t loathe the poor Indian everywhere,” said 
Rankin, as he remembered an item about the dusky race. 
“ You know our act forbidding people to work on Sunday 
makes a provision for the unconverted heathen, and says 


176 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


* this act shall not apply to Indians.’ Some time ago a man 
at the Falls of Niagara was accustomed to run an elevator 
on Sunday to carry tourists up and down the cliff to the 
Whirlpool Rapids. His employes were prosecuted for 
carrying on their business on the Sabbath day. When the 
following Sunday arrived, a quite civilized remnant of the 
Tuscarora tribe were running the entire business at splen- 
did profits, and claimed, apparently with success, that the 
la>f could not touch them.” 

While this desultory talk was going on, Margaret was 
still watching the little canoe. bobbing about on the water. 
Geoffrey said to her : ‘‘ Those rugs and cushions in the 
canoe look very inviting, do they not ? ” 

Margaret nodded. 

“ I know what you are thinking about,” he whispered. 
‘‘You want to go away in the canoe, and dream over the 
waters and glide about from island to island and imagine 
yourself an Indian princess.” 

She nodded again brightly. 

“ Well, if my dress-coat will not interfere with your 
imagining me a ‘ great brave,’ you might get your gloves, 
fan, and shawl, and we can go for a sail, and come in later 
on at the dance. If the coat spoils me you can think 
of me as John Smith, and of yourself as Pocahontas.” 

As Margaret nestled down into the cushions of the 
canoe, Geoffrey stepped a little mast that carried a hand- 
kerchief of a sail, and, getting in himself, gave a few vigor- 
ous strokes with the paddle, which sent the craft flying 
from under the lee of the island. As the sail filled and 
they skimmed away, he called out to Mrs. Dusenall that 
they would go and see the people at the hotels, and would 
meet them at the dance about nine o’clock. From the 
course taken by the butterfly of a boat, which was in any 
direction except toward the hotels, this explanatory state- 
ment appeared to be a mere transparency. 


GEOFFREY IIAMPSTEAD. 


1 77 

Nina’s spirits sank to low ebb when she saw these two 
going off together. 

They sailed on for some distance in open water, and 
then, as the sail proved unsatisfactory, Margaret took it 
down, and they commenced a sinuous course among small 
islands. The dusk of the evening had still some of the 
light of day in it, but the moon was already up and en- 
deavoring to assert her power. Everybody had given up 
wearing hats, which had become unnecessary in such 
weather. As they glided about, Geoffrey sometimes faced 
the current with long, silent strokes that gave no idea of 
exertion foreign to the quiet charm of the scene, and at 
other times the paddle dragged lazily through the water as 
he sat back and allowed the canoe to drift along on the cur- 
rent close to the rocky islands. They floated past breezy 
nooks where the ferns and mosses filled the interstices 
between rocks and tree roots, where trees had grown up 
misshapenly between the rocks, under wild creeping vines 
that drooped from the overhanging boughs and swept the 
flowing water. Hardly a word had been spoken since 
they left the yacht. For Margaret, there was enough in 
the surroundings to keep her silent. She had yielded her- 
self to the full enjoyment of the balmy air and faint even- 
ing glows, changing landscape, and sound of gurgling 
water. Her own appearance as seen from the other end 
of the canoe did not tend to spoil the view. Her happy 
face and graceful lines, and the full neck that tapered out 
of the open-throated evening dress did not seem out of 
harmony with anything. Reclining on one elbow against 
a cushioned thwart, she leaned forward and altered the 
course of the light bark by giving a passing rock a little 
push with her fan. 

They were now passing a sort of natural harbor on the 
shore of one of the islands. It had been formed by the 
displacement of a huge block of granite from the side of 
12 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


178 

the rock wall, and the roots and trunks of trees had roofed 
it in. 

Geoffrey pointed it out for inspection, and they landed 
lower down so that they could walk back to a spot like 
that to which Shelley’s Rosalind and Helen came. 

To a stone seat beside a stream, 

O’er which the columned wood did frame 

A rootless temple, like a fane 

Where, ere new creeds could faith obtain, 

Man’s early race once knelt beneath 
The overhanging Deity. 

Here they rested, while Margaret, lost in the charm of 
the surroundings, exclaimed : 

“ Could anything be more delightful than this } ” 

Geoffrey had always been conscious of something in 
Margaret’s presence which, seemingly without demand, 
exacted finer thought and led him to some unknown 
region which other women did not suggest. When with 
her he divined that it was by some such influence that men 
are separately civilized, and that, with her, his own civili- 
zation was possible. Every short-lived, ill-considered 
hope for the future seemed now so entangled with her 
identity that her existence had become in some way neces- 
sary to him. He had come to know this by discovering 
how unfeigned was the earnestness with which he angled 
for her good opinion, and he was rather puzzled to note 
his care lest “ a word too much or a look too long ” might 
spoil his chances of arriving at some higher, happier life 
that her presence assisted him vaguely to imagine. Nev- 
ertheless, so great was his doubt as to his own character 
that all this seemed to him as if he must be merely mas- 
querading in sheep’s clothing to gain her consideration, 
and that it must in some way soon come to an end from 
his own sheer inability to live up to it. All he knew was 
that this living up to an ideal self was a civilizing process, 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


179 


and if he did not count upon its permanency it certainly, 
he thought, did him no harm while it lasted. “ After all, 
was it not possible to continue in the upper air?” 

While his thoughts were running in this channel, such 
a long pause elapsed that Margaret had forgotten what he 
was answering to when he said decisively: “Yes. It is 
pleasant.” 

She looked around at him because his voice sounded 
as if he had been weighing other things than the scenery 
in his head. 

“ Oh, it is more than pleasant,” she said. “ It is some- 
thing never to forget.” Margaret looked away over earth, 
water, and sky, as if to point them out to interpret her en- 
thusiasm. Her range of view apparently did not include 
Geoffrey. Perhaps he was to understand from this that 
he, personally, had little or nothing to do with her pleasure. 
But a glimpse of one idea suggested more serious thought, 
and the next moment she was wondering how much he 
had to do with her present thorough content. 

Geoffrey, who was watching her thoughts by noticing 
the half smile and half blush that came to her face, felt 
his heart give a little bound. He imagined he divined 
the presence of the thought that puzzled her, but he an- 
swered in the off-hand way in which one deals with gener- 
alities. 

“ I believe. Miss Margaret, this whole trip provides 
you with great happiness.” 

“ I believe it does,” said Margaret. To conceal a 
sense of consciousness she uprooted a rush growing at the 
edge of the rock seat. 

“ Well, that is a great thing, to know when you are 
happy. Happiness is a difficult thing to get at.” 

“ Do you find it so hard to be happy ? ” 

“I think I do,” said Geoffrey. “That is, to be as 
much so as I would like.” 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


i8o 

“You must be rather difficult to please.’' 

“ No doubt it is a mistake not to be happy all the 
time,” replied Geoffrey. “ There is such a thing, however, 
as chasing happiness about the world too long. She shakes 
her wings and does not return, and leaves us nothing but 
not very exalting memories of times when we seem, as far 
as we can recollect, to have been only momentarily happy.” 

“ For me, I think that I could never forget a great hap- 
piness, that it would light up my life and make it bearable 
no matter what the after conditions might be,” said Mar- 
garet thoughtfully. 

“Just so,” answered Geoffrey lightly. “There’s the 
rub. How’s a fellow to cultivate a great happiness when 
he never can catch up to it. I don’t know of any path in 
which I have not sought for the jade, but I can look back 
upon a life largely devoted to this chase and honestly say 
that beyond a few gleams of poor triumph I never think 
of my existence except as a period during which I have 
been forced to kill time.” 

“ That is because you are not spiritually minded,” said 
Margaret, smiling. 

“I suppose you mean consistently spiritually minded,” 
said Geoffrey. “No doubt some who live for an exalted 
hereafter may sometimes know what actual joy is, but 
this can only approach continuity where one has great 
imaginative ambition and weak primitive leanings. For 
most people the chances of happiness in spirituality are 
not good. Happily, the savage mind can not grasp the 
intended meaning of either the promised rewards or pun- 
ishments continually, if at all; and this inability saves 
them from going mad. Of course the more men improve 
themselves the more they may rejoice, both for themselves 
and their posterity, but mere varnished savages like my- 
self have a poor chance to gain happiness in consistent 
spirituality. It is foolish to suppose that we are free agents. 


GEOFFREY HaMPSTEAD. l8i 

A high morality and its own happiness are an heirloom — a 
desirable thing — which our forefathers have constructed 
for us.” 

“ I have sometimes thought,” said Margaret, “ that if 
happiness depends upon one’s goodness it is not necessa- 
rily that goodness which we are taught to recognize as 
such. Goodness seems to be relative and quite change- 
able among different people. Some of the best people 
under the Old Testament would not shine as saints under 
the New Testament, yet the older people were doubtless 
happy enough in their beliefs. Desirable observances 
necessary to a Mohammedan’s goodness are not made requi- 
site in any European faith, and yet our people are not 
unhappy on this account. Nobody can doubt that pagan 
priests were, and are, completely happy when weltering in 
the blood of their fellow-creatures, and, if it be true that 
conscience is divinely implanted in all men, that under 
divine guidance it is an infallible judge between good 
and evil, that one may be happy when his conscience ap- 
proves his actions, and that therefore happiness comes 
from God, how is it that the pagan priest while at such 
work is able to think himself holy and to rejoice in it 
with clearest conscience ? It would seem, from this, that 
there must be different goodnesses diametrically opposed 
to each other which are equally pleasing to Him and 
equally productive of happiness to individuals.” 

Geoffrey smiled at her, as they talked on in their usual 
random way, for it seemed that she was capable of piecing 
her knowledge together in the same sequence (or disorder) 
that he did himself. One is well-disposed toward a mind 
whose processes are similar to one’s own. He smiled, too, 
at her attempts to reconcile facts with the idea of benefi- 
cence toward individuals on the part of the powers behind 
nature. For his part, he had abandoned that attempt. 

“ I have a rule,” he said, “which seems to me to ex- 


i 82 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


plain a good deal, namely, if a person can become per- 
suaded that he is rendered better or more spiritual by 
following out his natural desires, he is one of the happiest 
of men. The pagan priest you mentioned was gratifying 
his natural desires, his love of power and love of cruelty 
— which in conjunction with his beliefs made him feel more 
godly. Mohammed built his vast religion on the very cor- 
ner-stone of this rule. Priests are taught from the begin- 
ning to guard and increase the power of the Church. This 
is their first great trust, and it becomes a passion. Their 
natural love of power is utilized for this purpose. For 
this object, history tells us that no human tie is too sacred 
to be torn asunder and trampled on. Natural love of 
dominion in a man can be trained into such perfect 
accord with the desired dominion of a priesthood that he 
may feel not only happy but spiritually improved in car- 
rying out anything his Church requires him to do — no mat- 
ter what that may be.” 

Geoffrey stopped, as he noticed that Margaret shud- 
dered. “ You are feeling cold,” he said. 

“ No, I was only thinking of some of the priests’ 
faces. They terrify me so. I don’t want to interrupt 
you, but what do you think makes them look like that ? ” 

Geoffrey shrugged his shoulders. 

don’t know,” he answered. “ Perhaps interpreting 
the supernatural has with some of them a bad effect upon 
the countenance. All one can say is that many of them 
bear in their faces what in other classes of men I consider 
to be unmistakable signs that their greatest happiness con- 
sists in something which must be concealed from the pub- 
lic.” Hampstead spoke with the tired smile of one who 
on an unpleasant subject thinks more than he will say. 

“ Let us not speak of them. They make me think of 
Violet Keith, and all that sort of thing. Go back to what 
you were saying. It seems to me that the most refined 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


183 


and educated followers of different faiths do not gain hap- 
piness in spirituality in the way you suggest. Your rule 
does not seem to apply to them.’* 

I think it does,” anwered Geoffrey, with some of that 
abruptness which in a man’s argument with a woman 
seems to accept her as a worthy antagonist from the fact 
that politeness is a trifle forgotten. “You refer to men 
whose mental temperament is stronger in controlling their 
daily life than any other influence — men with high heads, 
who seem made of moral powers — ideality, conscientious- 
ness, and all the rest of them. They have got the heir- 
loom I spoke of. They are gentle from their family modi- 
fication. These few, indeed, can, I imagine, be happy in 
religion, for this reason. There has been in their families 
for many generations a production of mental activity, 
which exists more easily in company with a high morality 
than with satisfactions which would only detract from it. 
With such men it may be said that their earlier nature has 
partly changed into what the rule applies to equally well. 
With ordinary social pressure and their own temperament 
they would still, even without religion, be what they are ; 
because any other mode of life does not sufficiently at- 
tract them. Their ancestors went through what we are 
enduring now.” 

“ But,” said Margaret — and she continued to offer some 
objections, chiefly to lead Geoffrey to talk on. However 
incomplete his reasoning might be, his strong voice was 
becoming music to her. She did not wish it to stop. Both 
her heart and her mind seemed impelled toward both him 
and his way of thinking by the echo of the resonant tones 
which she heard within herself. Being a woman, she 
found this pleasant. “But,” she said, “people who are 
most imperfect surely may have great happiness in their 
faith .? ” 

“ At times. Yes,” replied he. “ But their happiness 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


184 

is temporary, and necessarily alternates with an equal 
amount of misery. The loss of a hope capable of giving 
joy must certainly bring despair in the same proportion, 
inversely, as the hope was precious. All ordinary men 
with any education alternate more or less between the en- 
joyment of the energetic mental life and the duller follow- 
ing of earlier instincts, and when, in the mental life, they 
allow themselves to delight in immaterial hopes and vis- 
ions, there is unhappiness when the brain refuses to con- 
jure up the vision, and most complete misery after there 
has occurred that transition to their older natures which 
must at times supervene, unless they possess the great 
moral heirloom, or perhaps a refining bodily infirmity to 
assist them. Ah ! this struggle after happiness has been a 
long one. Solomon, and all who seek it in the way he 
did, find their mistake. Pleasure without ideality is a 
paltry thing and leads to disgust. Religion-makers have 
hovered about the idea contained in my rule to make 
their creeds acceptable. In this idea Mohammed pleased 
many. Happiness in spirituality can only be continuous 
for men when they come to have faces like some passion- 
less but tender-hearted w’omen, and still retain the wish to 
imagine themselves as something like gods.” 

Geoffrey paused. 

Go on,” said Margaret, turning her eyes slowly from 
looking at the running water without seeing it. She said 
very quietly : “ Go on ; I like to hear you talk.” The 
spell of his presence was upon her. There was the soft 
look in her eyes of a woman who is beginning to find it 
pleasant to be in some way compelled, and for a moment 
her tones, looks, and words seemed to be all a part of a 
musical chord to interpret her response to his influence. 
Geoffrey looked away. The time for trusting himself to 
look into the eyes that seemed very sweet in their new 
softness had not arrived. For the first time he felt cer- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


185 


tain that he had affected her favorably. Almost involun- 
tarily he took a couple of steps to the water’s edge and 
back again. 

“ What is there more to say ? ” said he, smiling. “ We 
neither hope very much nor fear very much nowadays. 
Men who have no scientific discovery in view or who can 
not sufficiently idealize their lives gradually cease expect- 
ing to be very happy. To men like myself religions are a 
more or less developed form of delusion, bringing most 
people joy and despair alternately and leading others to 
insanity. We know that religions commenced in fear and 
in their later stages have been the result of a seeking for 
happiness and consolation. To us the idea of immortal- 
ity is but a development of the inherent conceit we notice 
in the apes. We do not allow ourselves the pleasing fan- 
tasy that because brain power multiplies itself and evolves 
quickly we are to become as gods in the future. If we do 
not hope much neither do we despair. Still, there is a 
capacity for joy within us which sometimes seems to be 
cramped by the level and unexciting mediocrity of exist- 
ence. We do not readily forget the beautiful hallucina- 
tions of our youth ; and for most of us there will, I imag- 
ine, as long as the pulses beat, be an occasional and too 
frequent yearning for a joy able to lift us out of our hum- 
drum selves.” 

Margaret felt a sort of sorrow for Geoffrey. Although 
he spoke lightly, something in his last words struck a 
minor chord in her heart. “ Your words seem too sad,” 
she said after a pause. 

I do not remember speaking sadly,” said he. 

“ No ; but to believe all this seems sad when we con- 
sider the joyful prospects of others. You seem to put my 
vague ideas into coherent shape. The things you have 
said seem to be correct, and yet ” (here she looked up 
brightly) “somehow they don’t seem to exactly apply to me. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


1 86 

I never had strong hopes nor visions about immortality. 
They never seemed necessary for my happiness. Small 
things please me. I am nearly always fairly happy. Small 
things seem worth seeking and small pleasures worth cul- 
tivating.” 

“ Because you have not lived your life. Do you imag- 
ine that you will always be content with small pleasures } ” 
asked Geoffrey quickly as he watched her thoughtful face. 

Margaret suddenly felt constraint. After the many 
and long interviews she had had with Geoffrey she had 
always come away feeling as if she had learned some- 
thing. What it was that she had learned might have been 
hard for her to say. His conversation seemed to her to 
have a certain width and scope about it, and to her he 
seemed to grasp generalities and present them in his 
own condensed form; but she had been unconsciously 
learning more than was contained in his conversation. 
His words generally appealed in some way to her intel- 
lect ; but tones of voice go for a good deal. Perhaps in 
making love the chief use of words is first to attract the 
attention of the other person. Perhaps they do not amount 
to much and could be dispensed with entirely, for we see 
that a dozen suitors may unsuccessfully plead their cause 
with a young woman in similar words until some one ap- 
pears with tones of voice to which she vibrates. Perhaps 
it matters little what he says if he only continues to speak 
— to make her vibrate. Certainly Cupid studied music 
before he ever studied etymology. Hampstead had never 
said a word to her about love, but the resonant tones, his 
concentration, and the magnetism of his presence, were 
doing their work without any usual formulae. 

The necessity of answering his question now brought 
the idea to her with a rush that Geoffrey had taught 
her perhaps too much — that he had taught her things 
different from what she thought she was learning — that 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


187 


the simplicity of her life would never be quite the same 
again. She became conscious of a movement in her 
pulses before unknown to her that made her heart beat 
like a prisoned bird against its cage, that made her whole 
being seem to strain forward toward an unknown joy 
which left all the world behind it. In the whirl of feel- 
ing came the impulse to conceal her face lest he should 
detect her thoughts, and she bent her head to arrange 
her lace shawl, as if preparatory to going away. She 
looked off over the water, so that she could answer 
more freely. Her answer came haltingly. 

“ Something tells me,” she said, “that the small pleas- 
ures 1 have known will not always be enough for me.” 
Then faster : “ But, of course, all young people feel like 
this now and then. I think our conversation has excited 
me a little.” 

She arose, and walked a step or two, trying to quell 
the tumult within her. 

“ We must be going. It is late,” she said in a way 
that showed her self-command. 

Geoffrey arose also, to go away, and they walked to 
the higher ground. Suddenly Margaret felt that for some 
reason she wished to remember the appearance of this place 
for all her life, and she turned to view it again. The moon 
was silvering the tracery of vines and foliage and the 
surface of the twisting water, and giving dark-olive tones 
to the shadowed underbrush close by. The large hotels 
could be seen through a gap in the islands with their 
many lights twinkling in the distance; a lighthouse, not 
far off, sent a red gleam twirling and twisting across the 
current toward them, and a whip-poor-will was giving forth 
its notes, while the waltz music from the far-away island 
floated dreamily on the soft evening breeze. Geoffrey said 
nothing. He, too, was under the influence of the scene. 
For once he was afraid to speak to a woman — afraid to vent- 


i88 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


ure what he had to say — to win or lose all. He thought 
it better to wait, and stood beside her almost trembling. 
But Margaret had had no experience in dealing with the 
new feelings that warred for mastery within her, and she 
showed one of her thoughts, as if in soliloquy. She was 
too innocent. The vague pressures were too great to 
allow her to be silent, and the words came forth with 
hasty fervor. 

“ No, no ! You must be wrong when you say there is 
nothing in the world worth living for ? ” 

“ No, not so,” interrupted Geoffrey. “ I did not say 
that. I said that life, for many of us, was mediocre, be- 
cause ideals were scarce and imaginations did not find 
scope. But there is a better life — I know there is — the 
better life of sympathy — of care — of joy — of love.” 

As she listened, each deep note that Geoffrey sepa- 
rately brought forth filled her with an overwhelming glad- 
ness. When he spoke slowly of sympathy, care, joy, and 
love, the words were freighted with the musical notes of a 
strong man’s passion, and they seemed to bring a new 
meaning to her, one deeper than they had ever borne 
before. 

Earth and heaven seemed one, 

Life a glad trembling on the outer edge 
Of unknown rapture. 

What a transparent confession the love of a great na- 
ture may be suddenly betrayed into ! The tears welled 
up into Margaret’s eyes, and, partly to check the speech 
that moved her too strongly, and partly to steady herself, 
and chiefly because she did not know what she was doing, 
she laid her hand upon his arm. 

He trembled as he tried to continue calmly with what 
he had been saying. He did not move his arm or take her 
hand, but her touch was like electricity. 

** I know there is such a life — a perfect life — and that 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


189 

there might be such a life for me, a life that more than 
exhausts my imagination to conceive of. You were 
wrong in saying that I said — that is, I only said — oh, I 
can’t remember what I said — I only know that I worship 
you, Margaret — that you are my heaven, my hereafter — 
the only good I know — with power to make or mar, to 
raise me from myself and to gild the whole world for 
me — ” 

Margaret put up her hand to stay the torrent of his 
utterance. She had to. For, now that he gave rein to his 
wish, the forceful words seemed to overwhelm her and seize 
and carry off her very soul. He took her hand between 
both of his, and, still fearful lest she might give some reason 
for sending him away, he pleaded for himself in low tones 
that seemed to bring her heart upon her lips, and when 
he said : “ Could you care for me enough to let me love 
you always, Margaret ? ” she looked half away and over 
the landscape to control her voice. Her tall, full figure 
rose, like an Easter lily, from the folds of the lace shawl 
which had fallen from her shoulders. Her eyes, dewy with 
overmuch gladness and wide with new emotions, turned 
to Geoffrey’s as she said, half aloud — as if wondering 
within herself : 

“ It must be so, I suppose.” 

When she looked at him thus, Geoffrey was beyond 
speech. He drew her nearer to him, touching her rever- 
ently. He did not know himself in the fullness of the 
moment. To find himself incoherent was new to him. 
She was so peerless — such a vision of loveliness in the 
moonlight ! The thought that he now had a future be- 
fore him — that soon she would be with him for always 
— that soon they would be the comfort, the sympathy, 
the cheer, and the joy of one another ! It was all un- 
speakable. 

Margaret placed both her hands upon his shoulder as 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


190 

he drew her nearer, and, as she laid her cheek upon her 
wrists, she said again, as if still wondering within her- 
self : 

“ It must be so, I suppose. I did not know that I 
loved you, Geoffrey. Oh, why are you so masterful ? ” 

A little while after this they approached the island, 
where the ball was at its height, and it seemed to Margaret 
that all this illumination of Chinese lanterns, ascending 
in curving lines to the tree tops — that all the music, danc- 
ing, and gayety were part of the festival going on within 
her. As Geoffrey strode into the ball-room with Margaret 
on his arm he carried his head high. A man who appeared 
well in any garb, in evening dress he looked superb. 
Some who saw him that night never forgot how he seemed 
.to typify the majesty of manhood, and how other people 
seemed dwarfed to insignificance when Margaret and he 
entered. If only a modified elasticity appeared in her 
step, the wonder was she did not skip down the room on 
her toes. They went toward Mrs. Dusenall, who came 
forward and took Margaret by the elbows and gave them 
a little shake. 

“You naughty girl,, how late you are! Dear child, 
how beautiful you look ! Where — ? ” 

Some imp of roguery got into Margaret. She bent 
forward and whispered to her motherly friend. 

“ Dear mother,” she whispered, “ we landed on an 
island, and Geoffrey kissed me.” 

“ Heavens ! ” cried Mrs. Dusenall, not knowing what 
to think. “ Why — but of course it’s all right. Of course 
he did, my dear — he could not do anything else — and so 
will I. And so you are engaged ? ” 

At this Margaret tried to look grave and to shock Mrs. 
Dusenall again. 

“ I don’t know. I don’t think we got as far as saying 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


I9I 

anything about that.” Then, turning to Geoffrey, with 
simplicity, “ Are we engaged ? ” 

“ Girl ! are my words but as wind that you should 
mock me with their emptiness.? Come and let us 
dance, for it is advocated by the preacher.” And they 
danced. 

When Nina had seen Mrs. Dusenall kiss Margaret on 
her late arrival, she knew its meaning at once, and her 
heart sickened. 

Pretty playthings seemed in some way rather degrad- 
ing to Geoffrey that night, and Nina was able to speak 
to him only for a moment, just before all were going away. 
She then pretended to know nothing about the engage- 
ment, and said, with cat-like sweetness : 

“ I thought you did not care for Margaret’s dancing 
much ? I see she must have improved, as you have been 
■wdth her all the evening.” 

Geoffrey answered gravely : “ I believe you ar^ right ; 
there is a difference. Yes, I did not think of it before, 
but, now you speak of it, there does seem to have been 
an improvement in her dancing.” 

“ Ah ! ” said Nina. 

As Geoffrey paddled the canoe back to the yacht that 
night, or rather morning, and the Yankee band had finished 
a complimentary God save the Queen, and after the last 
cheer had been exchanged, Margaret said to him in the 
darkness, just before they parted : 

If there were no more happiness to follow, Geoffrey, 
to-night would last me all my life ! ” 


192 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


CHAPTER XV. 

How like a younker, or a prodigal, 

The scarfed bark puts from her native bay, 

Hugged and embraced by the wanton wind. 

How like the prodigal doth she return, 

With over-weathered ribs and ragged sails, 

Lean, rent, and beggared by the wanton wind. 

Merchant of Venice. 

Next morning the deck of the Ideal was all activity. 
A strong northeasterly wind had sprung up, so that by a 
rare chance they were able to sail up the current instead 
of employing a tug. Only the paid hands and one or two 
others were on deck as they struggled up the stream till 
near Clayton. Here the channels opened out, the current 
seemed to ease up, and they got the wind continuously as 
she boiled up to Kingston. The steward went ashore at 
the city, and there was a delay while he was getting in 
more ice for the refrigerator, and poultry, and other sup- 
plies. Then they went off again, flying before the wind, 
past the wharves of Kingston toward Snake Island lying 
hull down and showing nothing but its tree-tops. 

Breakfast was very irregular that day — terribly so, the 
steward thought. He was preparing breakfast at any and 
all times up to twelve o’clock, and after that it was called 
luncheon. No troublesome bell awoke the tired sleepers, 
no colored man came to take away their beds as on the 
sleeping-cars. The dancers of the previous night tumbled 
up, more or less thirsty, just when the spirit moved them, 
and, as all had a fair quantum of sleep in this way, there 
were no bad tempers on board, except — well, the steward 
knew enough to look pleasant. 

It was a fine start they made. But it did not last 
long. During the night the heavy water-laden atmosphere 
began to break up into low clouds that went flying across 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


193 

the face of the moon, producing weird effects in alternate 
light and darkness. They were soon close-hauled on a 
wind from the southward, and before the port of Charlotte 
was reached they had a long tussel with a stiff breeze 
from the west — topmast housed, two reefs down, and the 
lee-scuppers busy. 

At dawn, when they went into Charlotte, it was blow- 
ing a gale. Not a Cape Horn gale, perhaps, but a good 
enough gale, and the water was lively around the pier- 
heads. Several vessels could be seen up the lake, running 
down to the harbor for shelter, and wallowing in the sea. 
So they ran the yacht far up into the harbor between the 
piers, and made. fast as far away from the lake as they 
could get, to avoid being fouled by incoming vessels, and 
to escape the heavy swell that found its way in from out- 
side. An hour after the sailing vessels had made the port 
the mail-line steamer Eleusinian came yawing in, with 
some of her windows in bad shape, and glad to get in out 
of the sea. 

Next morning it was blowing harder than ever. Every- 
thing outside the cabins was disagreeable. The water 
they floated in seemed to be principally mud, and on land 
the mud seemed principally water. Some of the advent- 
urous waded through the mire to see the works for smelt- 
ing iron in the neighborhood. But the only thing re- 
sembling fun outside the boat was trying to walk on the 
piers. Two figures, to which yellow oilskin suits lent their 
usual grace, would support a third figure, clad in a long 
waterproof, resembling a sausage. These three would 
make a dash through the wind and seize a tall post or a 
spile for mooring vessels, and here they would pause, hold 
on, and recover their lost breath. Then, slanting into the 
wind, they would make a sort of tack, partly to wind- 
ward, till they reached the next spile, and so on, while 
occasionally they would be deluged with the top of a 
13 


194 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


wave. The fun of this consisted in the endeavor to avoid 
being blown into the water. Certainly the sausage could 
not have gone alone. After several hours in the cabin the 
element of change in this exercise made it quite a pastime. 
It cooled the blood and took away the fidgets, and, on re- 
turning, made the cabins seem a pleasant shelter instead 
of a prison. 

So far there had been no chance to leave the harbor for 
the purpose of reaching Toronto. The wind was dead ahead 
from that quarter. Young Dusenall was watching the 
weather continually, very anxious to get away to be in time 
for the yacht race there on the 7th and 8th. He was over 
at the steamboat hobnobbing with the captain of the Eleusi- 
nian, who was also anxious to get on with his vessel. What 
with whisky and water, nautical magic, and one thing or 
another between the two of them they got the wind to 
go down suddenly about five o’clock that evening. Char- 
ley came back in high good-humor. The captain had 
offered to tow the Ideal behind the steamer to Toronto, 
and nothing but a long, rolling sea, with no wind to speak 
■of, could be noticed outside. 

Jack did not like going to sea hitched up, Mazeppa- 
like, to a steamer, and he had misgivings as to the weath- 
er. The leaden-colored clouds, banked up in the west, 
were moving slowly down the lake like herded elephants. 
They did not yet look pacific, and he feared that they 
would make another stampede before the night was over. 
He declared it was only looking for another place to blow 
from. Charley answered that the race came off on the 
day after to-morrow, and, as they had to get to Toronto 
somehow, why not behind the steamer.^ As Jack was 
unable to do any more than say what he thought, he sug- 
gested “ that, if the boat must go out in this sort of way 
during bad weather, that the women had better take the 
train home.” The trip in the yacht promised to be un- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


195 


pleasant, but when Mrs. Dusenall considered the long, 
dusty, and hot journey around the western end of the lake 
she decided to “stick to the ship.” 

At seven o’clock in the evening they were flying out of 
port behind the steamer at the end of a long hawser. A 
heavy dead swell was rolling outside, and the way the 
Ideal got jerked from one wave to another boded ill for 
the comfort of the passage. Charley hung on, however, 
thinking that this was the worst of it and that the sea 
would go down. 

The night grew very dark, and two hours afterward 
the gale commenced again, and blew harder than before 
from the same quarter. ‘Every time they plunged hard 
into a wave the decks would be swept from stem to stern, 
while a blinding spray covered everything. If they had 
cast off at this time they could have sailed back to Char- 
lotte in safety, but Charley was bound to see Toronto, and 
held on. 

Suddenly, in the wildness of the night, they heard a 
crack of breaking timber, and the next moment the tall 
mast whipped back toward the stern like a bending reed. 
A few anxious moments passed before those aft could find 
out what had happened. In the darkness, and the further 
obscurity caused by the flying water, the bowsprit had 
fouled the tow-line. The bowstays had at once parted 
and, perhaps assisted by the recoil of the mast, the bow- 
sprit had snapped off, like a carrot, close to the stem. 

This large piece of timber was now in the water, acting 
like a battering-ram against the starboard bow, with the 
stowed staysail, and all the head gear, attached to it. 
There was no use trying to clear away the wreck by en- 
deavoring to chop through all the wire rigging, chains, 
forestays, bowsprit-shrouds, bobstays, and running gear, 
all adrift in a mass that would have taken a long time to 
cut away or disentangle, even in daylight and calm water. 


196 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


Besides this, one could not see his hand held before his 
face, except by lantern-light, and such was the unnatural 
pitching of the yacht that it was almost impossible to 
stand without holding on to something. Charley, who 
was steering, asked of one of the English hands, who was 
carefully crawling aft to take the wheel, “ How’s every- 
thing forward ? ” To Charley’s mind the reply seemed to 
epitomize things as the man touched his hat and answered 
respectfully, Gone to ’ell, sir.” He spat on the watery 
deck, as he said this, while a blast of wind and half a ton 
of water from the bows swept away so effectually both the 
remark and the tobacco juice that Mr. Lemons could not 
help absurdly thinking of the tears of Sterne’s recording 
angel. The sailor was very much disgusted at the condi- 
tion of things, and both he and his remark were so free 
from any appearance of timidity that the Hon. M. T. Head 
felt like giving him five dollars. While on shore, the hon- 
orable gentleman was accustomed to emphasize his lan- 
guage, but, in the present crisis, no wild horses could have 
dragged from him a questionable word. 

Geoffrey’s long arms and strength came in well that 
night. At the first crack of the timber he slid out of his 
oilskins for work, and his was one of those cool heads that 
alone are of use at such a time. On a sailing vessel the 
first effect of a bad accident in the night-time is to para- 
lyze thought. The danger and the damage are at first 
unknown. The blackness of the night, the sounds of 
things smashing, the insecurity of foothold, the screaming 
of the wind, and the tumbling of the waters, all tend to 
kill that energy and concentration of thought which, to 
be useful, must rise above these enervating influences. 

Jack had had more experience than Geoffrey, and thus 
knew better what to do. But Geoffrey, for his part, was 
‘‘all there.” When he was hanging down over the side, 
and climbing about to get the floating, banging mass of 


' GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


197 


wreckage attached to the throat-halyards, the tops of the 
waves that struck him were unable to wash him away, and 
when he had succeeded in his efforts, the wreckage was 
hoisted bodily inboard. 

The fellows at the wheel were momentarily expecting 
the mast to snap and fall backward on their heads, as 
there was now no forestay on it. The worst fault of the 
sloop-rig here became apparent. Unlike cutters, sloops 
have no forestay leading from the masthead down to the 
stem, but one leading only to the outer end of the bow- 
sprit, and when the bowsprit carries away, as it frequently 
does, the mast then has nothing but its own strength to 
save it from snapping in a sudden recoil. 

What made the plunging of the mast worse was that 
the lower-mast backstays had both carried away at the 
deck, as also had the topmast backstays, after pulling the 
head off the housed topmast. All this heavy wire rigging, 
with its blocks, immediately became lost to sight. It was 
streaming out aft on the gale from the masthead, together 
with every other line that had a chance to get adrift. If 
a halyard got loose from its belaying pin that night it was 
not seen again. It said good-by to the deck and went to 
join the flying mass overhead, that afterward by degrees 
wound itself round and round the topping-lifts and peak- 
halyards, effectually preventing the hoisting of the main- 
sail. The long and heavy main-boom, which had long 
since kicked its supporting crutch overboard, was now 
lowered down to rest on the cabin-top, so as to take the 
weight off the mast ; and while the end of it dragged in 
the boiling caldron behind the counter, the middle part 
of it rose and fell with every pitch, in spite of endeavors to 
lash it down, until it seemed that the cabin-top would cer- 
tainly give way. Had the top caved in, the chances of 
swamping were good. 

Their power to sail by means of the canvas was now 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


198 

virtually gone. Nothing was left for them but to follow 
the huge “ smoke-grinding ” mass that yawed and pitched in 
front of them. One or two men were kept at the stern of 
the steamer during this part of the night, to report any sig- 
nals of distress and to aid the yacht’s steering by showing 
bright lights. Near to these bright lights the figure of the 
captain could be seen from time to time through the night, 
anxiously watching the lights on the yacht, which told him 
that she still survived. Sometimes he was apparently call- 
ing out to those on the yacht, but of course no sound 
could be heard. 

The ladies were in their cabins all this time, sorry 
enough that they had not taken the railway home. 

When the mast was stayed forward, by setting up the 
staysail-halyards, etc., at the stem, there was nothing to do 
on deck but steer and keep watch, and as nearly every- 
thing had been carried away except the whale boat, Geof- 
frey went below for dry clothes and, feeling tired with his 
hard work, took a nap in one of the bunks in the after- 
cabin. As the sailors say, he “ turned in all standing ” — 
that is, with his clothes on. 

The other men remained on deck. Most of them were 
drenched to the skin and were becoming gradually colder 
in the driving spray and heavy swashes of solid wave that 
swept the decks with clock-like regularity. They thought 
it better to remain where they could at least swim for a 
while if the yacht went down, and they preferred exposure 
to the idea of being drowned like rats in the cabin. 

After some time Geoffrey awoke, feeling that a soft 
warm hand was being passed around his chin. He knew 
it was Margaret before he got his eyes open. He peered 
at her for a moment without raising his head. She was 
sitting on the seat outside, looking very despairing. 

“ Oh, Geoffrey,” she said, “ I think we are going to the 
bottom.” 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


199 


Geoffrey listened, with his eyes shut, and heard both 
pumps clanging outside. Margaret thought he was going 
off to sleep again. She was very frightened, and the fear 
seemed to draw her toward Geoffrey all the more for pro- 
tection. She put her hand half around his neck and urged 
him to wake up. 

“ Oh, how can you go on sleeping at such a time ? 
Do wake up, dear Geoffrey. I tell you the yacht is sink- 
ing. We are all going to the bottom. Do get up ! 

Geoffrey was perfectly wide awake, but this was even 
pleasanter than being waked by music, and her hand on 
his chin seemed like a caress. With his eyes shut, he re- 
proached her sleepily : “No, no, don’t make me get up. 
I like it. I like going to the bottom.” 

Margaret smiled through her fears. “ But, Geoffrey, 
do look here ! The water has risen up over the cabin 
floor.” 

He got up then. Certainly, things did seem a little threat- 
ening. A couple of corks were dancing about in the water 
upon the carpet quite merrily. This meant a good deal. 
He heard that peculiar sound of rushing water inside the 
boat which can be easily recognized when once heard. 
Above the howling of wind and swash of waves, both 
pumps could be heard working for all they were worth. 
The vessel was pitching terribly, mercilessly dragged as 
she was from one wave to another, without having time to 
ride them. 

Geoffrey thought the time for bailing with the pails 
might be deferred for a while. Without Margaret’s knowl- 
edge he stuck a pen-knife into the woodwork near the floor 
to define high-water mark, and thus detect any increase in 
the leakage over the pumps. Then he devoted some time 
toward endeavoring to calm Margaret’s fears, chiefly by 
exhibiting a masterly inaction in regard to the leak and 
in searching about for a lost pipe. By the time he had 


200 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


found it and was enjoying a quiet smoke, reclining on the 
cushions to make the motion seem easier, her fears began 
to weaken. She did not at all object to the smoke of 
pipes, and Geoffrey’s comfort became contagious. Al- 
though the clanging of the pumps outside recalled stories 
of shipwreck, she was, on the other hand, more influenced 
by the easy-going indifference that he assumed. Twenty 
minutes passed in this way, and then she felt sure that 
the danger was not so great as she had thought. Geof- 
frey in the mean time was covertly watching his penknife, 
that marked the rise or fall of the water in the boat. At 
the end of half an hour he could see, from where he lay, 
that half the blade of the knife was covered with water. 
So he knocked the ashes out of his pipe and said he would 
go and see the boys on deck, and that Margaret had better 
go and comfort the others in the ladies’ cabins, and tell 
them it was all right. 

When Margaret had staggered away, Geoffrey’s man- 
ner was not that of one satisfied with his surroundings. 
He ripped up the carpet and the planks underneath to get 
at the well, and then skipped up the companion-way in 
the liveliest manner. When on deck, he made out Jack 
at the wheel. 

“How’s the well?” Jack cried, in the wind. “Did 
you sound it ? ” 

Geoffrey had to roar to make himself heard above the 
gale and noise of waters. 

“Get your buckets !” he said; and Jack passed his 
order forward by a messenger, who crawled along by the 
main-boom carefully, lest he should go overboard in the 
pitching. 

“ Why, the pumps were gaining on the leak a while 
ago ! ” Jack said to Geoffrey. “ Did you examine the 
well?” 

“ There is no well left that I could see. It’s all a lake 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


201 


on the cabin floor. The leak gained on the pumps an 
inch in half an hour ! I waited and watched to make 
sure, and to quiet the women.” 

“ Then it is only a question of time,” said Jack. “ The 
buckets and pumps won’t keep her afloat long. She is 
working the caulking out of her seams, and that will get 
worse every moment.” 

There were no loiterers on board after that. They all 
“ turned to ” and worked like machines. Even the steward 
and cook were on deck to take their trick at the pumps. 
Five men in soaking trousers and shirts worked five 
buckets in the cabin, heaving the water out of the com- 
panion-way. Of these five, some dropped out from time 
to time exhausted, but the others relieved them, and 
so kept the five buckets going as fast as they could be 
worked. Some fell deadly sick with the heat, hard work, 
and terrible pitching and driving motion of the boat, but 
nobody said a word. If a man fell sick, he had something 
else to think of than his comfort, and he staggered around 
as well as he could. From the companion-way to the well, 
and from the well to the companion-way, for two hours 
more they kept up the incessant toil. At first some had 
attempted to be pleasant by saying it was easy to get water 
enough for the whisky, and by making other light remarks. 
But now it was changed. They said nothing on the ex- 
hausting and dreary round, but worked with their teeth 
clinched — while the sweat poured off them as if they, too, 
had started every seam and were leaking out their very 
lives. 

Still the pitiless great mass of a steamer in front of the 
yacht plunged and yawed and dragged them without mercy 
through the black waters, where a huge surge could now 
be occasionally discerned sweeping its foaming crest past 
the little yacht, which was gradually succumbing to the 
wild forces about it. 


202 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


Margaret was back again in the cabin now. She had 
wedged herself in, with her back against the bunks, and one 
foot up against the table as a prop to keep her in position. 
In one hand she held a bottle of brandy and in the other 
a glass. And when a man fell out sick and exhausted she 
attended to him. There was no water asked for. They 
took the brandy “ neat.’' She had succeeded in quieting 
the other women, and as they could not hear the bailing 
in the after-cabin they were in happy ignorance of the 
worst. Whatever fears she had had when the knowledge 
of danger first came to her, she showed no sign of them 
now — but only a compassion for the exhausted workers 
that heartened them up and did them good. 

A third hour had nearly expired since they began to 
use the buckets, and Margaret for a long time had been 
watching the water, in which the bailers worked, gradually 
creeping up over their feet as they spent themselves on 
a dreary round, to which the toil of Sisyphus was satisfac- 
tory. The water was rising steadily in spite of their best 
efforts to keep the boat afloat. Margaret had quietly made 
up her mind that they would never see the land again. 
There did not seem to be any chance left, and she was 
going, as men say, to “ die game.” Her courage and 
cheering words inspired the others to endless exertions. 
She was like a big sister to them all. At times she was 
hilarious and almost boisterous, and when she waved the 
bottle in the air and declared that there was no Scott Act 
on board, her conduct can not be defended. Maurice 
Rankin tried to say he wished they could get a Scott Act 
on the water, but the remark seemed to lack intrinsic en- 
ergy, and he failed from exhaustion to utter it. 

Another half-hour passed, and while the men trudged 
through the ever-deepening water Margaret experienced 
new thoughts whenever she gazed at Geoffrey, who had 
worked almost incessantly. She looked at the knotted cords 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


203 


on his arms and on his forehead, at the long tenacious jaw 
set as she had seen it in the hurdle race, and she knew 
from the swelling nostril and glittering eye that the idea 
of defeat in this battle with the waters was one which he 
spurned from him. His clothes were dripping with water. 
The neck-button of his shirt had carried away, his trousers 
were rolled up at the bottom, and his face perspired freely 
with the extraordinary strain, and yet in spite of his ap- 
pearance she felt as if she had never cared for him so 
much as when she now saw him. On through the night 
she sat there doing her woman’s part beside those who 
fought with the water for their lives. She saw the treach- 
erous enemy gaining on them in spite of all their efforts, 
and in her heart felt fully convinced that she could not 
have more than two hours to live. The hot steam from 
men working frantically filled the cabin, the weaker ones 
grew ill before her, and she looked after them without 
blenching. Hers was no place for a toy woman. She was 
there to help all those about to die ; and to do this rightly, 
to force back her own nausea, and face anxiety and death 
with a smile. 

As for Geoffrey, life seemed sweet to him that night. 
For him, it was Margaret or — nothing. To him, this fac- 
ing of death did just one thing. It raised the tiger Jn 
him. He had what Shakespeare and prize-fighters call 
“ gall,” that indomitable courage which women worship 
hereditarily, although better kinds of courage may exist. 

Another long half-hour passed, and then Maurice fell 
over his bucket, keel-up. He had fainted from exhaus- 
tion, and was dosed by Margaret in the usual way, and 
after this he was set on his pins and sent on deck for the 
lighter work at the pumps. After that, the paid hands, 
having in some way purloined too much whisky, mutinied, 
and said they would be blanketty-blanketted if they would 
sling another bucket 


204 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


The others went on as steadily as before, while the 
crew went forward to wait sulkily for the end. 

Jack and Charley then consulted as to what was best 
to be done. To hold on in this way meant going to the 
bottom, without a shadow of doubt. They had tried to 
signal to the steamer, to get her to slow up and take all 
hands on board. But the watchers at the stern of the 
steamer had been taken off to work at the steamer’s 
pumps ; for, as was afterward found, she also was leaking 
badly and in a dangerous condition. 

Ought they to cut the towline, throw out the inside^ 
ballast, and cut away the mast to ease the straining at the 
seams ? The wooden hull, minus the inside ballast, might 
float in spite of the lead on the keel, which was not very 
heavy, and in this way they might drift about until picked 
up the next day. But the ballast was covered with water. 
They could not get it out in time to save her. Yet the 
seas seemed somewhat lighter than they had been. Would 
not the boat leak less while proceeding in an ordinary 
way, instead of being dragged from wave to wave ? No 
doubt it would, but was it safe to let the steamer leave 
them ? Ought they to cut the towline, get up a bit of a 
sail, and endeavor to make the north shore of the lake ? 

, While duly weighing these things, Jack was making a 
rough calculation in his head, as he took a look at the 
clock. Then he walked forward, took a halyard in his 
hands, and embracing the plunging mast with his legs, he 
swarmed up about twenty feet from the deck. Then, after 
a long look, he suddenly slid down again, and running aft 
he called to the others, while he pointed over the bows. 

“ Toronto Light, ahoy ! ” 

“ Holy sailor ! ” cried Charley in delight. “ Are you 
sure of it ? ” 

“ Betcherlife ! ” said Jack. “ Can’t fool me on Toronto 
Light. Go and see for yourself.’* 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


205 


Charley climbed up and took a look. Then he went 
down into the forecastle and told the men they would get 
no pay for the trip if they did not help to bail the boat. 

Seeing that not only life but good pay awaited them, 
they turned to again and helped to keep the ship afloat. 

In a few minutes more Jack called to Margaret to 
come on deck. When she had ascended, she sat on the 
dripping cabin-top and watched a changing scene, impos- 
sible to forget. Soon after she appeared, there came a 
flicker in the air, as short as the pulling of a trigger, and 
all at once she perceived that she began dimly to see the 
waves and the pitching boat. It was like a revelation, 
like an experience of Dante’s Virgil, to see at last some of 
that hell of waters in which they had struggled so long for 
existence. 

As the first beginning of weird light, coming apparently 
from nowhere, began to spread over the weary waste of 
heaving, tumbling, merciless waters and to dilute the ink 
of the night, as if with only a memory of day, a momentary 
chill went through Margaret, as she began to realize a small 
part of what they had come through. But as the ragged 
sky in the east paled faintly, rather than warmed, with an 
attempt at cheerfulness, like the tired smile of a dying man, 
it sufficed, although so deficient in warmth, to cheer her 
heart. The calm certainty of an almost immediate death 
that had settled like a pall upon her was dispelled by rays 
of hope that seemed to be identical with the invading rays 
of light. Hope comes from the east,” she thought, as a 
ray from that quarter made the atmosphere take another 
jump toward day, and as she fell into a tired reverie she 
remembered, with a heart forced toward thanksgiving, 
those other early glad tidings from the East. Worn out, 
she yielded to early emotions, and thanked God for her 
deliverance. She arose and went carefully along the deck,, 
holding to the wet boom, until she reached the mast, where 


206 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


she stopped and gazed at the black mass of the great 
steamer still plunging and yawing and swinging through 
the waters, with its lights looking yellow in the pale glim- 
mer of dawn. After viewing the disorder on decks she 
could form an idea of the work the men had had during 
the darkness of the night. 

But, oh, what a broken-nosed nightmare of a yacht it 
was, in the dreary morning light, with all the dripping 
black-looking heap of wreckage piled over the bows, the 
mast pitching back toward the stern with a tangled mass 
of everything imaginable wound in a huge plait down the 
lifts. In this draggle-tailed thing, with a boom lying on 
deck and hanging over the counter and its canvas trailing 
in the water, Margaret could not recognize the peerless 
swan that a short time ago poised itself upon its pinions 
and swept so majestically out of Toronto Bay. 

The water, at every mile traversed, now grew calmer 
as the gale came partly off the land. Soon the pitching 
ended altogether. The opened seams ceased to smile so 
invitingly to the death that lurks under every boat’s keel. 
The pumps and buckets had begun to gain upon the 
water in the cabin, and by the time they had swept round 
the lighthouse and reached the wharf the flooring had 
been replaced, while the pumps were still clanging at in- 
tervals. 

When they made fast to the dock a drawn and hag- 
gard group of men — a drooping, speechless, and even ragged 
group of men — allowed themselves to sleep. It did not 
matter where or how they slept. They just dropped any- 
where ; and for five hours Nature had all she could do to 
restore these men to a semblance of themselves. 

Note. — If Captain Estes, of the Mail Line Steamer Abyssinian, 
should ever read this chapter he will know a part of what took place 
at the other end of the hawser on the night of September 5, 1872. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


207 


CHAPTER XVL 

What slender youth, bedewed with liquid odors, 

Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave, 

Pyrrha ? For whom bindest thou 
In wreaths thy golden hair, 

Plain in its neatness ? Oh, how oft shall he 
On faith, and changed gods, complain, 

To whom thou untried seemest fair ? 

Horace, Lib. i. Ode 5. 

A FINE spring afternoon. A dark-eyed, well-dressed 
young lady with an attractive figure descends from a 
street car near the Don Bridge. She crosses the bridge 
leisurely and proceeds eastward along the Kingston Road 
toward Scarborough. Whatever her destination may be, 
the time at which she arrives is evidently of no conse- 
quence. She does “belong” down Kingston Roadway. 
The street car dropped her there, and one may come a 
long way for ten cents on street cars. From the uninter- 
ested way in which she views the semi-rural surroundings 
one can see that she is carelessly unfamiliar with the 
region. 

A fine horse, with his glossy coat and harness shining 
in the sun, comes along behind her at a rate that would 
not be justified in a crowded thoroughfare. Behind the 
horse a stylish dog-cart bowls along with its plate-glass 
lamps also shining in the sun. Between this spot and the 
city of Kingston there is no man on the road handsomer 
than he who drives the dog-cart. The lady looks pleased 
as she hears the trap coming along ; a flush rises to her 
cheeks and makes her eyes still brighter. When the horse 
trots over the sod and stops beside the sidewalk her sur- 
prise is so small that she does not even scream. On the 
contrary, she proceeds, without speaking, to climb into the 


208 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


vehicle with an expression on her face in which alarm has 
no place. 

In some analogy with that mysterious law which rules 
that an elephant shall not climb a tree, symmetrical peo- 
ple in fashionable dresses, whose lines tend somewhat to- 
ward convexity, do not climb into a high dog-cart with 
that ease which may compensate others for being long 
and lanky. A middle-aged elder of the Established Kirk 
stands on his doorstep directly opposite and looks pious. 
He says this is a meeting not of chance but of design, 
and reproof is shown upon his face. The lady wears 
Parisian boots, and the general expression of the middle- 
aged elder is severe except where the eyes suggest weak- 
ness unlooked for in a face of such high moral pitch. 
Once in, the young lady settles herself comfortably and 
wraps about her dress the embroidered dust-linen as if 
she were well accustomed to the situation. They drive 
off, and the middle-aged elder shakes his head after them 
and says with renewed personal conviction that the world 
is not what it ought to be. 

The road is soft and smooth, and the horse saws his 
head up and down as he steps out at a pace that makes him 
feel pleasantly disposed toward country roads and inclined 
to travel faster than a gentlemanly, civilized, by-law-regu- 
lated horse should desire. The young lady lays aside her 
parasol, which is remarkable — a gay toy — and takes up a 
black silk umbrella which is not remarkable but service- 
able. The good-looking man pulls out of his pocket a 
large brown veil rolled up in paper, and she of the Paris- 
ian boots ties it quickly around a little skull-cap sort of 
bonnet of black beads and lace. The veil is thrown 
around in such a way that the folds of it can be pulled 
down over her face in an instant. Here, also, the lady 
shows a deftness in assuming this head-gear that argues 
prior practice, and when this is done she lays her hand 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


209 


on the handsome man’s arm and looks up at him radiant- 
ly, while the silk umbrella shuts out a couple of farmer’s 
wives. 

“ Doesn’t it make me look hideous.?” she says, refer- 
ring to the veil. 

‘‘Yes, my dear, worse than ever,” says the handsome 
man. His face is a mixture of careless good-nature and 
quiet devil-may-care recklessness. Perhaps there are 
women who never make men look spiritual. It is to be 
hoped that the umbrella hides his disregard for appear- 
ances on the public street and that the farmer's wives in 
the neighborhood are not too observant. 

“ For goodness’ sake, Geoffrey, do behave better on the 
highway ! What will those women think ? ” 

“ Their curiosity will gnaw them cruelly, I fear. They 
are looking after us yet. I can see them.” 

“ Well, it is not fair to me to go on like that ; besides 
I am terrified all the time lest the people may find out who 
it is that wears the brown veil about the country. I have 
heard four or five girls speaking about it. It’s the talk of 
the town.” 

“ No fear about that, Nina. I don’t think your name 
was ever mentioned in connection with the veil, but, in 
case it might be, I drove out Helen Broad wood and Janet 
Carruthers lately, and, in view of the dust flying, I per- 
suaded them to wear the brown veil. We drove all over 
the city and down King Street several times. So now 
the brown veil is divided between the two of them. It 
was not much trouble to devote a little time to this ob- 
ject, and besides, you know, the old people give excellent 
dinners.” 

“ That was nice of you to put it off on those girls and 
to take so much trouble for me, but it can’t last, Geoffrey, 
dear. We are sure to be recognized some day. Helen 
and Janet will both say they were not on the Indian road 
14 


210 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


near the Humber the day we met the Joyces’s wagonette, 
and those girls are so stupid that people will believe them ; 
and that bad quarter of an hour when Millicent Hart rode 
behind us purposely to find out who I was. That was a 
mean thing of her to do, but I paid her off. I met her at 
Judge Lovell’s the other night. It was a terrible party, 
but I enjoyed it. I knew she expected to bring things to 
a climax with Mr. Grover ; she’s folle about that man. I 
monopolized him the whole evening — in fact he came 
within an ace of proposing. Gracious, how that girl 
hates me now ! ” 

“ I would not try paying her off too much, or she 
will think you have a strong reason for doing so,” said 
Geoffrey. “ After all, her curiosity did her no good. You 
managed the umbrella to a charm.” 

“ The best thing you could do would be to have a 
linen duster for me to wear — such as the American women 
travel in ; then, as the veil covered my head, I could 
discard the umbrella, and they would not recognize my 
clothes.” 

In this way they rattled down to Scarborough, and then 
Geoffrey turned off the highway through a gate and drove 
across a lot of wild land covered with brushwood until 
he struck a sort of road through the forest which had 
been chopped out for the purpose of hauling cordwood in 
the winter. He followed this slowly, for it was rough 
wheeling. Then he stopped, tied the horse, and Nina 
and he sauntered off through the woods until they reached 
the edge of the high cliffs overlooking the lake. This 
spot escaped even picnic parties, for it was almost inac- 
cessible except by the newly cut and unknown road. 
Solitude reigned where the finest view in the neighbor- 
hood of Toronto could be had. They could look along 
the narrow cliffs eastward as far as Raby Head. At their 
feet — perhaps a hundred and fifty feet down — the blue- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


2II 


green waves lapped the shore in the afternoon breeze, and 
on the horizon, across the thirty or forty miles of fresh 
water, the south shore of the lake could be dimly seen in 
a summer haze. 

The winter had come and gone since we saw our 
friends last, and the early spring was delicious in the 
warmth that hurried all nature into a promise of ma- 
turity. Not much of importance had happened to any of 
them since we last saw them. Jack was as devoted as 
ever, and Nina was not. She tried to do what she could 
in the way of being pleasant to Jack, and she went on 
with the affair partly because she had not sufficient hard- 
ness of heart to break it off, and chiefly because Geoffrey 
told her not to do so. He preferred that she should re- 
main, in a nondescript way, engaged to Jack. 

Hampstead generally dined with the Mackintoshes on 
Sunday, and called in the evening once or twice during 
the week. He also took Margaret for drives in the after- 
noon — generally about the town. When this happened a 
boy in buttons sat behind them and held the horse when 
they descended to make calls together on Margaret’s 
friends. This was pleasant for both of them, and a be- 
ginning of the quiet domestic life which, after marriage, 
Geoffrey intended to confine himself to, and he won good 
opinions among Margaret’s friends from the cheerful, 
pleasant, domesticated manner he had with him when 
they dropped in together, in an off-hand, engaged ” sort 
of way to make informal calls. And so far as Margaret 
could know he seemed in every way entitled to the favor- 
able opinions he created. All his better, kinder nature 
was present at these times, and no one could make him- 
self more agreeable when he was, as he said of himself, 
^‘building up a moral monument more lasting than brass.” 

But Geoffrey had his days off,” and then he was dif- 
ferent. He smiled as he thought that in cultivating a 


212 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


high moral tone it was well not to overdo the thing at 
first ; that two days out of the week would suffice to keep 
him socially in the traces. He thought his off ” days 
frequently made him prize Margaret all the more when 
he could turn with some relief toward the one who em- 
bodied all that his imagination could picture in the way 
of excellence. He despised himself and was complacent 
with himself alternately, with a regularity in his incon- 
sistencies which was the only way (he would say, smiling) 
that he could call himself consistent. If necessary, he 
would have admitted that he was bad ; but to himself he 
was fond of saying that he never tried to conceal from 
himself when he was doing wrong ; and, among men, he 
despised the many “ Bulstrodes ” of existence who succeed 
in deceiving themselves by falsities. He said that this 
openness with self seemed to have something partly re- 
deeming about it; perhaps only by comparison — that it 
possibly ranked among the uncatalogued virtues, marked 
with a large note of interrogation. He thought there were 
few brave enough to be quite honest with themselves, and 
that there was always a chance for a man who remained 
so ; that the hopeless ones were chiefly those who, with or 
without vice, have become liars to themselves ; who, by 
mingling uncontrolled weakness and professed religion, 
have lost the power to properly adjust themselves. 

This day of the drive to Scarborough was one of his 
^^off” days. He found a piquancy in these trips with 
him, because so many talked about her beauty ; and, as 
the majority of men do not have very high ideals concern- 
ing feminine beauty, Nina was well adapted for extensive 
conquest. No doubt she was very attractive, quite dazzling 
sometimes. She was partly of the French type, perfect in 
its way, but not the highest type ; she was lady-like in 
her appearance, yet with the slightest soup^on of the nurse- 
girl. It amused him to hear men discussing, even squab- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


213 


bling about her, especially after he had come from a trip 
with the brown veil. If men had been more sober in the 
way they regarded her, if her costumes had been less be- 
witching, he soon would have become tired. But these 
incentives made him pleased with his position, and he 
was wont to quote the illustrious Emerson in saying that 
“ greatly as he rejoiced in the victories of religion and 
morality, it was not without satisfaction that he woke up 
in the morning and found that the world, the flesh, and 
the devil still held their own, and died hard.” In other 
words, it pleased him that Nina existed to give life — for 
the present — a little of that fillip which his nature seemed 
to demand. 

“ What is a wise man.^ Well, sir, as times go, ’tis a 
man who knows himself to be a fool, and hides the fact 
from his neighbor.” 

This was the only text upon which Geoffrey founded 
any claim to wisdom. 

As they left the cliff and walked slowly back through 
the woods Nina was leaning on his arm, and the happiness 
of her expression showed how completely she could forget 
the duties which both abandoned in order to meet in this 
way. But when they arrived at the dog-cart a change 
came over her. The brown veil had to be tied on again. 
At many other times she had done this placidly, as part 
of the masquerade. But to-day she was not inclined to 
reason carefully. To-day the veil was a badge of secrecy, 
a reminder of underhand dealings, a token that she must 
ever go on being sly and double-faced with the public, 
that she must renounce the idea of ever caring for Geoffrey 
in any open and acknowledged way. To be sure, she had 
accepted this situation in its entirety when she continued 
to yield to her own wishes by being so much with an en- 
gaged man. But to be reasonable always, is uncommon. 
She resisted an inclination to tear the veil to shreds. 


214 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


Something told her that exhibitions of temper would not 
be very well received by her companion. No matter how 
she treated Jack, was she not honest with Geoffrey.^ Did 
she not risk her good name for him ? And why should 
she have to mask her face and hide it from the public ? 
She — an heiress, who would inherit such wealth — whose 
beauty made her a queen, to whom men were like 
slaves ! 

The veil very nearly became altered in its condition 
as she thought of these things, but she put it on, and 
smothered her wrath until they got out upon the highway. 
Then she said, after a long silence : “Would it not be as 
well to let Margaret wear this brown veil a few times, 
Geoffrey ? She has a right to drive about with you, and 
if people thought it was only she, their curiosity might 
cease ” 

A farm-house cur came barking after the dog-cart just 
then, and Geoffrey’s anger expended itself partly on the 
dog, instead of being embodied in a reply. 

The whip descended so viciously through the air that a 
more careful person might have seen that the suggestion 
had not improved his temper. 

Except this, he gave no answer. She pressed the sub- 
ject, although she know he was angry. “ Don’t you think, 
Geoffrey, that that would be a good thing to do? It 
would quite remove curiosity, and would, in any case, be 
only fair to me.” 

Now, if there was one thing Hampstead could not and 
would not endure, it was to have a woman he amused him- 
self with attempt to put herself on a par with the one he 
reverenced. Margaret was about all that remained of his 
conscience. She embodied all the good he knew. Every 
resolve and hope of his future depended upon her. He 
could not as yet, he thought, find it possible always to live 
as she would like ; but in a calm way, so controlled as to 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


215 

seem almost dispassionate, he worshiped her, as it were, 
in the abstract. 

His ideas concerning her were so rarefied that, in any 
other person, he might have called them fanatical. He 
was bad, but he felt that he would rather hang himself 
than allow so much as a breath to dim the fair mirror of 
Margaret’s name. At the very mention of her as wearing 
this brown veil he grew pale with anger, and the barking 
cur got the benefit of it, and at Nina’s insistence his face 
and eyes grew like steel. 

“ Heavens above ! Can’t you let her name alone ? Is 
it not enough for you to raise the devil in me, without 
scheming to give her trouble ? Do you think I will allow 
her to step in and be blamed for what it was your whim to 
go in for — risks and all ? ” 

Nina was ready now to let the proposition drop, but 
she could not refrain from adding : “ She would not be 
blamed for very much if she were blamed for all that has 
happened between us.” 

There was truth in what she said, but Geoffrey had 
looked upon these meetings as anything but innocent. 
Argument on the point was insufferable, and it only made 
him lash out worse, as he interrupted her. 

“ Good God, Nina ! you must be mad ! Don’t you see ? 
Don’t you understand ? ” 

Nina waited a second while she thought over what he 
meant, and her blood seemed to boil as she considered dif- 
ferent things. 

^‘Yes, I do understand. You need say no more,” 
cried she, with her eyes blazing. “ You want me to realize 
that 1 am so much beneath her — that she is so far above 
me — that, although I have done nothing much out of the 
way, the imputation of her doing the same thing is a kind 
of death to you. You go out of your way to try and hurt 


me — 


2i6 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD, 


“No, no, Nina," said Geoffrey, controlling himself, “I 
do not want to hurt your feelings. If we must continue 
speaking on this unpleasant subject, I will explain." 

“ That will do, Geoffrey Hampstead," she exclaimed 
in a rage; “I don’t want to hear your explanation. I 
hate you and despise you ! I have been a fool myself, 
but you have been a greater one. I could have made a 
prince of you. I was fool enough to do this, and now," 
here Nina tore the veil off her head, and threw it on the 
road, “and now,” she continued, as she faced him with 
flashing eyes, “you will always remain nothing but a mis- 
erable bank-clerk. Who are you that you should presume 
to insult me.^ and who is she that she should be held 
over my head ? I am as good in every way as she is, and, 
if all that’s said is true, I am a good deal better.” 

Geoffrey listened silently to all she said, and to her 
blind imputation against Margaret. Gazing in front of 
him with a look that boded ill, he reduced the horse’s 
pace to a walk, so that he need not watch his driving, and 
turned to her, speaking slowly, his face cruel and his eyes 
small and glittering. 

“Listen! You have consciously played the devil 
with me ever since I knew you. You have known from 
the first how you held me ; you played your part to per- 
fection, and I liked it. It amused me. It made better 
things seem sweeter after I left you. It is not easy to be 
very good all at once, and you partly supplied me with the 
opposite. I don’t blame you for it, because I liked it, and 
I confess to encouraging you, but the fact is— you sought 
me. Hush ! Don’t deny it ! As women seek, you 
sought me. We tactily agreed to be untrue to every tie 
in order to meet continually, and in a mild sort of way 
try to make life interesting. Did either of us ever try by 
word or deed to improve the other ? Certainly not. Nor 
did we ever intend to do so. We taught each other noth- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


217 


ing but scheming and treachery. And you thought that 
you would make the devil so pleasing that I could not do 
without him. This is the plain truth— in spite of your 
sneer. Recollect, I don’t mind what you say about me, 
but you have undertaken to insult and lay schemes for 
somebody else, and that I’ll not forgive. For that^ I say 
what I do, and I make you see your position, when you, 
who have been a mass of treachery ever since you were 
born, dare to compare yourself with — no matter who, I 
won’t even mention her name here. That’s how I look 
upon this affair, if you insist upon plain speech. Now we 
understand things.” 

It was a cruel, brutal tirade. Truth seems very bru- 
tal sometimes. He began slowly, but as he went on, his 
tongue grew faster, until it was like a mitrailleuse. Nina 
was bewildered. She had angered him intentionally ; but 
she had not known that on one subject he was a fanatic, 
and thus liable to all the madness that fanaticism implies. 
She said nothing, and Hampstead, with scarcely a pause, 
added, in a more ordinary tone : “ It will be unpleasant for 
us to drive any further together. You are accustomed to 
driving. I’ll walk.” 

He handed the reins to Nina and swung himself out 
without stopping the horse. She took the reins in a half- 
dazed way and asked vaguely : 

“ What will I do with the horse when I get to the 
town } ” 

‘‘ Turn him adrift,” said Geoffrey, over his shoulder, 
as he proceeded up a cross-road, feeling that he never 
wished to see either her or the trap again. 

Nina stopped the horse to try to think. She could not 
think. His biting words had driven all thought out of 
her. She only knew he was going away from her forever. 
She looked after him, and saw him a hundred yards off 
lighting a cigar with a fusee as he walked along. She 


2I8 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


called to him and he turned. The country side was quiet, 
and he could hear her say, “ Come here ! ” He went 
back, and found her weeping. All she could say was 
‘‘ Get in.” Of course he got in, and they drove off up 
the cross-road so as to meet no person until she calmed 
herself. After a while she sobbed out : 

“ Oh, you are cruel, Geoffrey. I may be a mass of 
treachery, but not to you — not to you, Geoffrey. Having 
to put on the veil angered me. I have been wicked. We 
have both been wicked. But you are so much worse than 
I am. You know you are ! ” 

As she said this it sounded partly true and partly 
whimsical, so she tried to smile again. He could not en- 
deavor to resist tears when he knew that he had been un- 
necessarily harsh, and he was glad of the opportunity to 
smile also and to smooth things over. 

As a tacit confession that he was sorry for his violence, 
he took the hand that lay beside him into his, and so they 
drove along toward the city, each extending to the other 
a good deal of that fellow-feeling which arises from com- 
munity in guilt. Both felt that in tearing off the mask 
for a while they had revealed to each other things which, 
being confessed, left them with hardly a secret on either 
side, and if this brought them more together, by making 
them more open with each other, both felt that they now 
met upon a lower platform. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

Consider the work of God : for who can make that straight, which he 
hath made crooked ? — Ecclesiastes vii, 13. 

A FEW days after the disturbance in the dog-cart Geof- 
frey and Maurice Rankin were dining, on a Sunday, with 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


219 


the Mackintoshes. After dinner a walk was proposed, 
and Margaret went out with them, very spick-and-span and 
charming in an old black silk “ made over,” and with a 
bright bunch of common geraniums at her belt. She had 
invited the young lawyer partly because he had seemed so 
distrustful of Geoffrey, and she wished to bring the two 
more together, so that Maurice might see that he had mis- 
judged him. In the course of their walk Geoffrey asked, 
for want of something better to say : 

How goes the law, Rankin ? Things stirring ? ” 

“Might be worse,” replied Maurice. “By the way,. 
Margaret, I forgot to tell you Mr. Bean actually brought 
in a client the other day.” 

“ Somebody he had been drinking with, I suppose,” 
said Margaret, who had heard of Mr. Bean. 

“ Right you are. They supported each other into the 
office, and befoPe Bean sank into his chair I was intro- 
duced by him as his ‘jun’or par’ner.’” 

“ Could not Mr. Bean do the same every day ? Supply 
the office by bringing up his friends when prepared to be 
lavish with money ? ” 

“ I’m afraid not. Bean would be always tipsy himself 
before the victim was ready. Still, your idea is worth 
consideration. Of course nobody would want law from 
Bean unless he were pretty far gone, and in this case the 
poor old chap knew no more about what was wanted than 
the inquirer.” 

“ Had the client any money ? ” asked Geoffrey. 

“ Money ? He was reeking with it. What he wanted, 
he said, was a quiet lawyer. I told him that the quiet- 
ness of our business was its strong point, only equaled, 
in fact, by the unpleasant grave. Then it appeared that 
he had come on a trip from the States with a carpet-bag 
full of money which he said he had borrowed, and he 
wished, in effect, to know whether the United States 


220 


GEOP'FREY HAMPSTEAD. 


could take him back again, vi et armis. I told him ‘ No,’ 
and knocked ten dollars out of him before you could say 
‘knife.’” 

“You might have made it fifty while you were about 
it,” said Geoffrey. 

“ Well, you see, the man was not entirely sober, and, 
after all, ten dollars a word is fair average pay. I never 
charge more than that.” 

“You mean that the unfortunate was too sober to be 
likely to pay any more,” said Margaret. 

Maurice shrugged his shoulders in deprecation of this 
idea. 

Said Geoffrey : “ I often meet Mr. Bean on the street. 
He is a very idle man ; I know by the way he carries his 
pipe in his mouth.” 

“ What has that to do with it } ” 

“ Everything. He smokes with his pipe in the center 
of his mouth.” 

“Well.>” 

“Well, no one does that unless very old or very idle. 
Men get the habit from smoking all day while sitting 
down or lounging. No one can walk hurriedly with his 
pipe in that position ; it would jar his front teeth out. I 
have noticed that an active man invariably holds his 
pipe in the side of his mouth, where he can grasp it 
firmly.” 

“ Hampstead, you should have been a detective.” 

“ Such is genius,” said Margaret. “ Geoffrey has any 
quantity of unprofitable genius.” 

“That reminds me that I once heard my grandfather 
telling my father the same thing, but it was not very cor- 
rect about my father.” 

“ Indeed ! By the way, Geoffrey, if it is not an imper- 
tinent question for your future wife to ask, who was your 
grandfather ? ” 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


221 


This ignorance on the part of an engaged girl made 
Maurice cackle. 

Who is he, you mean. He is still alive, I think, and 
as old as the hills.” 

“ Dear me ! How very strange that you never told 
me of his existence before ! ” 

“ His existence is not a very interesting one to me — in 
fact, quite the reverse ; besides I don’t think we have 
ever lacked a more interesting topic, have we Margaret ? ” 
“ I imagine not,” quoth Rankin dryly. Margaret 
stopped ; she thought there might be something “ queer ” 
about this grandfather that Geoffrey might not care to 
speak about before a third person. She merely said, there- 
fore, intending to drop the matter gently : 

“ How very old the senior Mr. Hampstead must be ? ” 
“ Hampstead is only the family name. The old boy is 
Lord Warcote. I am a sort of a Radical you know, Mar- 
garet, and the truth is I had a quarrel with my family. 
Only for this, I might have gone into the matter before.” 

“Never mind going into anything unpleasant. You 
told my father, of course, that you were a son of Mr. Man- 
son Hampstead, one of the old families in Shropshire. 
And so you are. We will let it rest at that. Family dif- 
ferences must always be disagreeable subjects. Let us 
talk about something else.” 

“ Now we are on the subject, I might as well tell you 
all about it. First, I will secure Rankin’s secrecy. Be- 
hold five cents ! Mr. Rankin, I retain you with this sum as 
my solicitor to advise when called upon concerning the 
facts I am about to relate. You are bound now by your 
professional creed not to divulge, are you not.? ” 

“ Drive on,” said Maurice, “ I’m an oyster.” 

“ There is not a great deal to tell,” said Geoffrey. “ The 
unpleasant part of it has always made me keep the story 
entirely to myself. When I came to this continent I was 


222 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


in such a rage with everything and everybody that I 
abandoned the chance of letters of introduction. No- 
body here knows who I am. I have worked my own way 
to the exalted position in which you find me. A good 
while ago my father was in the English diplomatic serv- 
ice, and he still retains, I believe, a responsible post under 
the Government. Like a good many others, though, he 
was, although clever, not always quite clever enough, and 
in one episode of his life, in which I am interested, he 
failed to have things his own way. For ten years he was 
in different parts of Russia, where his duties called him. 
He had acquired such a profound knowledge of Russian 
and other languages that these advantages, together with 
his other gifts, served to keep him longer in a sort of exile 
for the simple reason that there were few, if any, in the 
service who could carry out what was required as well 
as he could himself. From his official duties and his 
pleasant manner he became well known in Russian so- 
ciety, and he counted among his intimate friends several of 
the nobility who possessed influence in the country. After 
a long series of duties he and some young Russians, to 
whom passports were almost unneccessary, used to make 
long trips through the country in the mild seasons to shoot 
and fish. In this way some of the young nobles rid them- 
selves of ennui, and reverted by an easy transition to the 
condition of their immediate ancestors. They had their 
servants with them, and lived a life of conviviality and lux- 
ury even in the wildest regions which they visited. When 
they entered a small town on these journeyings they did 
pretty much what they liked, and nobody dared to com- 
plain at the capital. If a small official provoked or delayed 
them they horsewhipped him. In fact, what they de- 
lighted in was going back to savagery and taking their 
luxuries with them, dashing over the vast country on fleet 
horses, making a pandemonium whenever and wherever 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


223 


they liked ; in short, in giving full swing to their Tartar 
and Kalmuck blood. On one occasion my father was feel- 
ing wearied to death with red tape, but nobody was in- 
clined at the time for another expedition. He therefore 
obtained leave to go with a military detachment to Semi- 
palatinsk, from which town some prisoners had to be 
brought back to St. Petersburg. There was little trouble 
in obtaining his permit, especially as he had been partly 
over the road before. So he went with his horses and serv- 
ant as far as the railway would take him, and then joined 
a band of fifty wild-looking Cossacks and set out. When 
within a hundred and fifty versts from Semipalatinsk they 
encountered a warlike band of about twenty-five well 
mounted Tartars returning from a marauding expedition. 
They had several horses laden with booty, also some fe- 
male prisoners. It was the old story of one tribe of sav- 
ages pillaging another. The Cossacks were out in the 
wilderness. Although supposed to be under discipline, 
they were one and all freebooters to the backbone. Their 
captain, under pretense of seeing right done, allowed an 
attack to be made by the Cossacks. They drove off the 
other robbers, ransacked the booty, took what they wanted, 
and under color of giving protection, took the women also, 
hoping to dispose of them quietly as slaves at some town. 
These women were then mounted on several of the pack- 
horses, and the Cossacks rode off on their journey, leaving 
everything else on the plain for the other robbers to retake. 

My father had kept aloof from the disturbance. It 
was none of his business. He sat on his horse and 
quietly laughed at the whole transaction. He had be- 
come very Russian in a good many ways, and he cer- 
tainly knew what Cossacks were, and that any protest 
from him would only be useless. It was simply a case of 
the biter bit. He joined the party as they galloped on to 
make up for lost time. 


224 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


“ As for the women, it was now nothing to them that 
their captors had changed. Early in the morning their 
village had been pillaged and their defenders slain. It 
was all one to them, now. Slavery awaited them wher- 
ever they went. So they sat their horses with their usual 
ease, veiled their faces, and resigned themselves to their 
fate. But as the afternoon wore on, the wily captain be- 
gan to think that my father would certainly see through 
the marauding escapade of his, and that it would be un- 
pleasant to hear about it again from the authorities, and 
so he cast about him for the easiest way to deceive or pro- 
pitiate him. That evening, as my father was sitting in 
his kibitka^ the curtain was raised and the captain smil- 
ingly led in one of the captive slaves — a woman of ex- 
traordinary beauty. And who do you think she was } ” 

Margaret turned pale. She grasped Geoffrey's arm, 
as her quick intelligence divined what was coming. 

“ No, no,” she said. “ You are not going to tell me 
that?” 

“Yes,” said Geoffrey with a pinched expression on his 
face. “ That is just what I am going to tell you. That 
poor slave — that ignorant and beautiful savage was my 
mother.” 

Margaret was thunderstruck. She did not compre- 
hend how things stood, but with a ready solicitude for 
him in a time of pain, she passed her hand through his 
arm and drew herself closer to him, as they walked along. 

As for Maurice, he ground his teeth as he witnessed 
Margaret’s loving solicitude. It was a relief to him to 
rasp out his dislike for Geoffrey under his breath. “ I 
always knew he was a wolf,” he muttered to himself. 

“ You will see now,” continued Geoffrey, “ why I pre- 
ferred not to be known in this country. To be one of a 
family with a title in it did not compensate me for being a 
thorough savage on my mother’s side. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


225 


“But I will continue my story. The beauty of the 
woman attracted my father. He spoke to her kindly in 
her own language and made her partake of his dinner with 
him. He thought that in any case he could save her from 
being sold into slavery by the Cossacks. 

“ These wild half-brothers of mine took it as a matter 
of course that my father would be pleased with his acqui- 
sition, but they suggested vodki and got it — so that my 
mother was in reality purchased from them for a few bot- 
tles of whisky. 

“ They went on toward Semipalatinsk and got the 
prisoners. My father intended to leave the woman at that 
town, but she wished to see the White Czar and his great, 
city, of which she had heard, and she begged so hard to 
be taken back with him that he began to think he might 
as well do so. 

“ The fact was that a whim seized him to see her 
dressed as a European, and as they waited at Semipala- 
tinsk for ten days before returning, he had time to have 
garments made which were as near to the European styles 
as he could suggest. It was evidently the clothes that de- 
cided the matter. In her coarse native habiliments she 
was simply a savage to a fastidious man, but when she 
was arrayed in a familiar looking dress assisted by the soft 
silken fabrics of the East, he was bewitched. She told 
him, on the journey back, how her father had always 
counted upon having enough to live on for the rest of his 
life when she was sold to the traders who purchased slaves 
for the harems at Constantinople. 

“ My father took her to St. Petersburg with him, where 
they lived for three years together. Such a thing as marry- 
ing her never entered his head. He simply lived like his 
friends. I never found out how much she was received 
in society — no doubt she had all the society she wanted — 
but I did hear from an old friend of my father, who spoke 
15 


226 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


of her with much respect, that her beauty created the 
greatest sensation in St. Petersburg, and that when she 
went to the theatre the spectators were all like astrono- 
mers at a transit of Venus. She made good use of her 
time, however, and at the end of three years she could 
speak and write English a little. 

“ At the end of three years from the time he met her, 
my father was called back to England. He left her in his 
house in St. Petersburg with all the money necessary, and 
came home. I think he intended to go back to her when 
he got ready. But she settled that question by coming to 
England herself. She could not bear the separation after 
three months of waiting. Imagine the scene when she 
arrived ! Lord and Lady Warcote were having a dinner 
party, when in came my mother, as lovely as a dream, and 
throwing her arms round my father she forgot her English 
and addressed him fondly in the Tartar dialect. 

“ My father, for a moment, was paralyzed ; but, in 
spite of the enervating effect of this exotic’s sudden ap- 
pearance, he could not help feeling proud of her when he 
saw how magnificent she was in her new Paris costume, 
and it occurred to him that her wonderful beauty would 
carry things off with a high hand for a while, until he could 
perhaps get her back to Russia. She, however, after the 
moment in which she greeted him, stood up to her full 
height, and glancing rapidly around the table at all the 
speechless guests, recognized my grandfather from a 
photograph she had seen. Lord Warcote was sitting — 
starchy and speechless — at the end of the table. 

“ ‘ Ah ! zo ! Oo are ze little faazer ! ’ And before he 
could say a word the handsomest woman in England had 
kissed him, and had taken his hand and patted it. 

“ Another brisk look around, and she recognized Lady 
Warcote in the same way. She floated round the table to 
greet ‘ dear mutter.’ But here she saw she was making a 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


227 


mistake — that everything was not all right. Lady Warcote 
was not so susceptible to female beauty as she might have 
been. She arose from her chair, her face scarlet with an- 
ger, and motioned my mother aw^ay. 

“ ‘ Manson,’ she said, addressing my father, ‘ is this 
woman your wife ? * 

“ My father had now recovered from his shock, and 
was laughing till the tears ran down his face. My mother, 
seeing his merriment, took courage again and said gayly : 

“‘Yes, yes! He have buy me — for one — two — tree 
bottle vodki' She counted the numbers on the tips of 
her fingers, her shapely hands flashing with jewels. Then 
her laughter chimed merrily in with my father’s guffaw. 
She ran back to him, took his head in both her hands and 
said, imitating a long-drawn tone of childish earnestness : 

“‘It was cheap — che-ap. I was wort’ more dan vodki* 

“ Lord Warcote had lived a fast life in his earlier days. 
After Nature had allowed him a rare fling for sixty years 
she w^as beginning to withdraw her powers, and my grand- 
father had become as religious as he had been fast. The 
effect of my mother’s presence upon him was to make him 
suddenly young again, and although he soon assumed his 
new Puritan gravity he could not keep his eyes off her. 
On a jury he would have acquitted her of anything, and 
when she turned around imperiously and told a servant to 
bring a chair, ‘ Good Lord ! ’ he said, ‘ she’s a Russian 
princess ! ” and he jumped up like an old courtier to get 
the chair himself. The more he heard of her story the 
more interested he became, and when he had heard it 
all, nothing would suffice but an immediate marriage. My 
father protested on several grounds, but his protests made 
no difference to the old man. His will, he said, would be 
law until he died, and even after he died, and, what with 
my mother’s beauty, which made him take what he under- 
stood to be a strong religious interest in her behalf, and 


228 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


one thing and another, he got quite fanatical on the point. 
He forgot himself several times, and swore he would cut 
father off with nothing if he refused. 

“The end of it was that they were married at once, and 
afterward I was born. My poor mother had no intention 
of giving father trouble when she came to England, neither 
did she wish in the slightest degree for a formal marriage, 
the usefulness of which she did not understand. She sim- 
ply felt that she could not do without him. And I don’t 
think he ever regretted the step he was driven to. She 
had some failings, but she was as true and loving to him 
as a woman could be, besides being, for a short time, con- 
sidered a miracle of beauty in London. 

“ I can only remember her dimly as going out riding 
with father. They say her horsemanship was the most 
perfect thing ever seen in the hunting field. It was the 
means of her death at last. The trouble was that she 
did not know what fear was while on horseback. She 
thought a horse ought to do anything. Father has told 
me that when they were out together a freak would seize 
her suddenly, and away she would go across country for 
miles— riding furiously, like her forefathers, waving her 
whip high in the air for him to follow, and taking every- 
thing on the full fly. If her horse could not get over any- 
thing he had to go through it. At last, one day, an oak 
fence stopped her horse forever, and she was carried home 
dead. I was three years old then.” 

Geoffrey paused. 

The others remained silent. His strong magnetic 
voice, rendered more powerful by the vehement way he 
interpreted the last part of the story in his actions, im- 
pressed them. They were walking in the Queen’s Park 
at this time, and it did not matter that he was more than 
usually graphic. When he spoke of the wild riding of 
the Tartars, he sprang forward full of a bodily eloquence. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


229 


For an instant, while poised upon his toes, his cane wav- 
ing high aloft, his head and shoulders thrown back in an 
ecstasy of abandon, and his left hand outstretched as if 
holding the reins, he seemed to electrify them, and to 
give them the whole scene as it appeared in his own 
mind. Rankin shuddered. Involuntarily he gasped out : 

“ Hampstead ! For God’s sake, don’t do that ! ” 

‘‘ Why not ? ” said Geoffrey, as he resumed his place 
beside them, while the wild flash died out of his eyes. 

“Because no man could do it like that unless — be- 
cause, in fact, you do it too infernally well.” 

Rankin felt that Margaret must be suffering. It 
seemed to him that Geoffrey had really become a Tartar 
marauder for a moment. Perhaps he had. 

“ Don’t mind my saying this,” Maurice added, with 
apology. “ Really, I could not help it.” 

Geoffrey laughed. Margaret was grave. Rankin strayed 
on a few steps in advance, and Geoffrey, taking advan- 
tage of it, whispered quickly. “ What are you thinking of, 
Margaret } ” 

“ I was thinking I saw a wild man,” said Margaret 
truthfully. Then, to be more pleasant, she added, “ And 
I thought that if Tartar marauders were all like you, 
Geoffrey, I would rather prefer them as a class.” 

Maurice, who was unconsciously de trop at this mo- 
ment, turned and said : 

“You have got me ‘worked up’ over your story, and 
now I demand to know more. Do not say that ‘ the con- 
tinuation of this story will be published in the New York 
Ledger of the current year.’ Go ahead.” 

“ Anything more I have to tell,” said Geoffrey, “ only 
relates to myself.” 

“ Never mind. For once you are interesting. Drive 
on.” 

“ Well, where was I } Oh, yes ! Well, my father mar- 


230 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


ried again six months after my mother’s death. He mar- 
ried a woman who had been a flame of his in early youth, 
and who had developed a fine temper in her virgin soli- 
tude. They had six children. I was packed off to school 
early, and was kept there almost continually. After that 
I was sent away traveling with a tutor, a sanctimonious 
fellow who urged me into all the devilment the Continent 
could provide, so that he might really enjoy himself. 
Then I came home and got rid of him. It was at this 
time that I first heard from my father about my mother 
and my birth. The story did me no good. I got morbid 
over it. Previously I had thought myself of the best 
blood in England. We were entitled as of right to royal 
quarterings, and the new intelligence struck all the pea- 
cock pride out of me. I felt like a burst balloon. The 
only thing I cared about was to go to Russia and see the 
place my mother came from. I got letters from my father 
to some of his old friends at St. Petersburg, and with 
their influence found my way to the very village my 
mother came from. Some of the villagers remembered 
quite well the raid when my mother was carried off and 
how her enterprising father had been killed. What made 
me wonder was where my mother got her aristocratic 
beauty. Among the undiluted, pug-nosed, bestial Tartars 
such beauty was impossible. I found, however, that my 
mother’s mother had also been a captive. No one knew 
where she came from. Most likely from Circassia or 
Persia. The villagers at the time of the raid were the 
remnants of a large predatory tribe that formerly used 
to sally forth on long excursions covering many hun- 
dreds of miles. At that time — the time of their strength 
— they lived almost entirely by robbery, and their name 
was dreaded everywhere within a radius of five hundred 
miles. I have always hoped that my mother’s mother 
was of some better race than the Tartar. There is no 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


231 


doubt, however, that my mother’s father was a full- 
blooded Tartar, though he may have had straighter feat- 
ures than the generality of them. I found there a 
younger brother of my mother. He was a wallowing, 
drunken, thieving pig, this uncle of mine, but under the 
bloated look he had acquired from excesses, one could 
trace straight and possibly handsome features. As the 
son would most likely resemble his father, I can only in- 
fer that the father was not so bad-looking as he might 
have been, and so, with one thing and another, I came 
to understand the possibility of my mother’s beauty. 

It may have been morbid of me. I should have left 
the matter alone, for I believed in ‘ race ’ so much that 
my discoveries ground me into dust. Nothing satisfied 
me, however, unless I went to the bottom of it. I watched 
this uncle of mine for two or three weeks, and made a 
friend of him, merely to see if I could trace in him any 
likeness to myself. I made him drunk. I made him 
sober. I made him run and walk and ride. Sometimes I 
thought I traced the likeness clearly, and then again I 
changed my mind. I tried him in other ways, leaving in 
my quarters small desirable objects partly concealed. 
They always disappeared. He stole them with the regu- 
larity of clockwork. I can laugh over these matters now, 
speaking of them for the first time in twelve years. At 
that time I groaned over it, and still persevered in trying 
to find out what could do me no good. I am so like my 
father that I could find no resemblance in me to the Tartar 
uncle. But at last I got a ‘ sickener.’ While talking to 
him I noticed that he made his gestures pointing the two 
first fingers ; instead of all or only one finger. I watched 
his dirty hands while he mumbled on, half drunk, and 
then I saw that for a pastime, as a Western Yankee might 
whittle or pick his teeth, this man threw the third and 
fourth fingers of his left hand out of joint and in again. 


232 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


He said his father and also, he had heard, his grandfather 
could do this with ease. 

“ An hour afterward, I think I must have been a good 
ten miles off— flying back to civilized Russia, my servants 
after me, thinking I was mad. Perhaps I was a little 
queer in the head at the time.” 

“ What made you go off in that way ? ” asked Maurice, 
who did not see the connection. 

Geoffrey made no verbal reply, but he held out his 
left hand with the two last fingers out of joint. Then he 
showed how easily he could put them “in ” and “ out.” 

“ None of my father’s family can do this, but my 
mother could. Both my mother and the pig of an uncle 
held out these two fingers in their gestures, and curled the 
others up so, and I do the same. I can laugh now, but 
it killed me at the time. 

“ I traveled all over the world before I came back to 
England. My half-brothers were then pretty well grown 
up and were fully acquainted with everything concerning 
my birth and my mother’s history. My step-mother hated 
me because I was the eldest son, and she poisoned her 
children’s minds against me. She sought out my old tutor, 
who, when paid well, told her a lot of vile and untrue 
stories about me. With these she tried to poison my 
father’s mind also in regard to me. I was moody, morbid, 
and restless. They looked at me as if I was some other 
kind of creature, the son of a savage, and it galled me, for 
all my subsequent travelings had never removed the sting 
of my birth. Some deplore illegitimacy. Rubbish ! 
Wrong selection, not want of a ceremony, is the real sin 
that is visited unto the children. 

“After my return home I could have died with more 
complacency than I felt in living. Even my father seemed 
at last to be turned against me by my step-mother. One 
day while we were at dinner my step-mother, who possessed 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


233 


a fiend’s temper, had a hot discussion with me about some- 
thing which I have forgotten. Words were not well chosen 
on either side, and she flew into a tantrum. I remember 
saying at last : ‘ Madame, it would take two or three keep- 
ers to keep you in order.’ Everybody was against me, of 
course, and when her own eldest son half arose and ad- 
dressed me, his remarks met with applause. What he said 
to me, in quiet scorn, was : 

‘ Our mother’s temper may not be good, sir, but we 
don’t find it necessary to send a keeper with her to keep 
her from stealing.’ 

“ I have since found out, in a roundabout way, that 
my beautiful mother preferred to steal a thing out of a 
shop rather than pay for it. My father had always looked 
at this weakness of hers as a most humorous thing. Any- 
thing she did charmed him. Sometimes she would show 
him what she had stolen, and it would be returned or paid 
for. However, at the time that this was said to me at the 
table I did not know of these facts. I arose, amid the 
derisive laughter that followed the ‘ good hit,’ and demand- 
ed of my father how he dared to allow my mother’s name 
to be insulted. I secretly felt at the time that the slur 
upon her honesty might be well founded, but the possible 
truth of it made the insult all the worse to me. 

** This was the last straw. I felt myself growing wild. 
Father did not look at me. He merely went on with his 
dinner, laughing quietly at the old joke and at my discom- 
fiture. He said : ‘ I can not see any insult, when what 
Harry says is perfectly true — and a devilish good joke it 
was.’ 

“ I did not appreciate that joke. I was almost crazy 
at the time. My father’s laughter seemed the cruelest 
thing I had ever heard. I ‘turned to,’ as Jack Cresswell 
would say, and cursed them all, individually and col- 
lectively, and then took my hat and left the house. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


234 

which I have never seen since and never intend to see 
again,” 

“ And what about the tutor that told the stories about 
you ? ” asked Rankin. 

“ Aha, Maurice,” continued Geolfrey, brightening up 
from painful memories, “ you have a noble mind for 
sequences. What about the tutor? Just so, what about 
him ? ” and Geoffrey slapped Rankin on the back heartily, 
as a pleasanter memory presented itself gratefully. 

“ I wish you would not strike me like that. I am 
thinking of going to church to-night, unless disabled. 
What about your beastly tutor? For goodness’ sake, do 
drive on ! ” 

“ Oh, well, I can’t tell you much about that, not just 
now. Of course, the first thing I did was to pay him a 
call at his lodgings in London. Your great mind saw that 
this was natural. That call was a relief. I came out 
when it was finished and told somebody to look after 
him, and then took passage for New York in a vessel that 
sailed from London on the same day.” 

Margaret and Rankin smiled at the grim way in which 
he spoke about the visit to the tutor. 

“ On arriving in New York I got a small position in 
a Wall Street broker’s office, and learned the business. 
From that I went, with the assistance of their recommen- 
dation, into a bank. While in this bank I fell in with 
some young fellows from Montreal, and afterward stayed 
with them in Montreal during holidays. They wanted 
me to come to that city, and I liked the English way of 
the Canadians, so I came. On entering the Victoria Bank 
I got good recommendations from the one I had left. 
From Montreal I was moved to the head office, and here 
I am.” 

There was much to render Margaret thoughtful in 
this story that Geoffrey told. She was pleased to find 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


235 


that he belonged to the English nobility, because it 
seemed to assist her opinion when, with the confidence of 
love, she had placed him in a nobility such as she hoped 
could exist among mankind. Otherwise, the fact that 
there was a title in his family meant very little to her. 
Her own father’s family would have declined any title in 
England involving change of name. What did affect her 
as a thinking woman, and one given to the study of nat- 
ural history, was the awful gap on the other side of the 
house. Following so closely upon the assurance that he 
was well born, it was a cruel wrench. His interests were 
hers now, and it seemed as if they suffered jointly — she, 
through him. She felt that all this bound them more to- 
gether, and she did her best to appear unconscious and 
gay. 

He looked at her when he had finished, and, behind 
their smiles, each saw that the other was trying to make 
the best of things — that there was something now between 
them to be feared, which might rise up in the future and 
give them pain. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

Those aggressive impulses inherited from the pre-social state — those 
tendencies to seek self-satisfaction regardless of injury to other beings, 
which are essential to a predatory life, constitute an anti-social force, tend- 
ing ever to cause conflict and eventual separation of citizens. — Herbert 
Spencer, Synthetic Philosophy. 

Nina Lindon had by no means given up the pulse- 
stirring and secret drives with Geoffrey. The only thing 
she had given up was saying to herself that in the future she 
would not go any more. The result of this frequent 
yielding to inclination was that she was miserable enough 
when away from him and not particularly contented when 


236 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


with him. Between her and Margaret Mackintosh a cool- 
ness had arisen. Margaret was an unsuspicious person, 
but her affections had developed her womanhood, and in 
some mysterious way she had divined that Nina cared to 
be with Geoffrey more than she would confess. There 
was no jealousy on Margaret’s side. She simply dropped 
Nina, and perhaps would have found it hard to say on 
what grounds. In such matters women take their impres- 
sions from such small occurrences that their dislikes often 
seem more like instinct even to themselves. 

As for Nina, she had liked Margaret only with her bet- 
ter self, and now she had become conscious of a growing 
feeling of constraint when in her presence. The increas- 
ing frigidity with which the taller beauty received her 
seemed to afford ground for private dislike. She was un- 
confessedly trying to bring herself to hate Margaret, and 
was on the lookout for a reasonable cause to do so. To 
undermine a detested person treacherously would be far 
more comfortable than undermining a friend. The diffi- 
culty lay in being unable to hate sufficiently for the hate 
to become a support. 

Later on in June a ball was given at Government 
House. The usual rabble was present. Margaret did not 
go, as her father happened to be ill at the time. Nina 
was there in full force. Geoffrey appeared late in the 
evening with several others who had been dining with him 
at the club. As the host he had been observing the hos- 
pitalities, and it took several dances to bring his guests 
down to the comfortable assurance that they really had 
their sea-legs on. They looked all right and perhaps felt 
better than they looked ; but during the first waltz or two 
there seemed to be unexpected irregularities in the floor 
that had to be treated with care. 

After a few dances, which Geoffrey found kept for him 
as usual, Nina and he disappeared — also as usual. Nina 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


237 


was not among the dissolving views who do nothing but 
dissolve. She was fond of her dancing as yet, and, as a 
rule, only disappeared once in the course of the evening. 
This sounds virtuous, but there is perhaps more safety in 
a plurality of disappearances. 

The next day she telegraphed to some friends in Mon* 
treal, from whom she had a standing invitation, that she 
was coming to see them. They wired back that they would 
be charmed to see her. Then she telegraphed again : “ Had 
arranged to stop at Brockville on my return from you, but 
have just heard that they go away in ten days. Would it 
be all the same if I went to you about Monday week } ” 

The answer came from Montreal : “ That will suit us 
very well — though we are disappointed. Mind you come.” 
Then Nina wrote and posted to her Montreal girl friend a 
note, in which she said : “ If any letters should come for 
me just keep them until I arrive. I will go to Brockville 
now.” 

Jack Cress well saw her off by the evening train, bought 
her ticket to Montreal, and secured her compartment in 
the sleeper. Her two large valises were carried into the 
compartment. She said she preferred to have her wearing 
apparel with her and not bother about baggage-checks. 

When everything was settled in the compartment she 
said in a worried nervous way to Jack : “Aud I suppose 
you will be wanting me to write to you ? ” 

“When you get a chance, Nina. It is not easy, some- 
times, to get away, at a friend’s house, to write letters. 
Don’t write till you feel like doing so and get a good 
chance.” 

This was his kind, self-controlled way of taking her 
vexatious remarks. But to-day it seemed as if kindness 
was what she least wished to receive from him. 

“ If I waited till I wished to write to you I don’t 
think I would ever write again.” 


238 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


“You don’t quite mean that, Nina. You are worried 
and anxious to-night. It makes you unkind and fretful.” 

“ Well, perhaps so,” said Nina. “ I think I danced 
too much last night. And this stupid affair of ours wor- 
ries me. I want a change, and I am going to have it. 
No. I shall not write for at least ten days — perhaps two 
weeks, and you had better think over the advisability of 
getting somebody else to wear down to a shadow with a 
long engagement.” 

The bell was ringing for departure. Jack tried to 
make the best of it, and to excuse her inconsiderate re- 
marks. “ Remember,” she repeated, “ I shall not wTite for 
at least ten days, and you had better not write for a week 
or so either. I want a complete change.” 

This was so very decisive that Jack could hardly re- 
press a sigh as he rose and said : “ Well, good-by, old 
lady ; I hope you will have a pleasant visit.” 

As he lightly kissed her cheek she stood before him as 
inanimate as marble. All at once it seemed dreadful to 
let him believe in her so thoroughly. A feeling of kind- 
ness toward him came over her — a moment of remorse — 
remorse for everything. The train was moving off now. 
She suddenly put her arms round his neck and burst into 
tears. Then she pushed him away. “ Run quickly now 
and get off. Go at once — ” 

“ But Nina, darling what is the matter ? ” 

“ Never mind — run, or you’ll be killed getting off. I’m 
only worried. Good-by ! ” And she pushed him through 
the door. 

Nina continued her passage to Montreal as far as Pres- 
cott, where she left the train with her luggage, and crossed 
the St. Lawrence to Ogdensburg. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


239 


CHAPTER XIX. 

E’en now, through thee, my worst seems less forlorn. . . . 

When Jack, with the agility of a railroad employ^, 
landed on his feet all right, he stood watching the disap- 
pearing train, annoyed, disappointed, and mystified. He 
usually found moderate speech sufficient for daily use, and 
as he walked back slowly toward his club, all he said was : 
“ Well, if all women are like Nina, I don’t think I alto- 
gether understand them ! ” 

He felt lonely already, and for diversion bethought him- 
self of turning and going down to the Ideal to inspect the 
preparations for the race to be sailed on the following day. 
There he met Charley Dusenall, and as the yacht gently 
rose and fell on the slight swell coming in from the lake, 
these two sat watching some of the racing spars floating 
alongside and rolling about in the wavelets of the evening 
breeze, soaking themselves tough for the coming contest. 

“ What’s the matter with you ? " said Charley, noticing 
how grumpy and silent Jack was. ^‘The old story, I sup- 
pose. Has Her Majesty gone back on you again ? ” 

Jack grunted assent. 

“Only pro tem.^ though } ” asked Charley. 

“Oh yes, only pro tem.^ of course, but still — ” 

“ I know. Deuced unpleasant. But, after all, what 
does it matter about a woman or two when you have got a 
boat under you that can cut the eye-teeth out of an equi- 
noctial and make your soul dance the Highland fling. 
Bah, chuck the whole thing up. Finish your grog and 
we’ll have another. Vive le joy, as we say in Paris.” 

Jack’s face grew less long. “That’s all very well, 
but—” 

“ Rubbish ! you want to hug your melancholy to your- 


240 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


self. Rats ! whistle it down the wind. D’you think I 
don’t know ? Look at me ! D’you think I haven’t been 
through the whole gamut — from Alpha to Omaha — with 
all the hemidemisemiquavers thrown in } Lord, I have 
quavered whole nights. And I say that le jew ne vaut pas 
the candle.” 

“ You are quite Frenchy to-night,” said Jack, brighten- 
ing. 

“ I always get more or less Parisian after eight o’clock 
at night. Dull as a country squire in the morning, though. 
Woke up awfully English and moral to-day. By the way, 
you had better sleep on board to-night, so as to be ready 
in good time to-morrow. And don’t be spoiling your nerves 
with the blues. I want you to tool her through to-morrow, 
and get over your megrims first. Remember this, that — 

Womankind more joy discovers 
Making fools than keeping lovers.” 

“ Perhaps you are right,” smiled Jack, getting up as if 
to shake himself clear of his gloom. “ And yet — 

To be wroth with one we love 
Doth work like madness in the brain.” 

“There isn’t much the matter with you,” said Charley, 
as he saw Jack swing over the water and make a gymnastic 
tour round a backstay. And when the second gun was 
fired the next morning, and the Ideal was preening her 
feathers as she swept through a fleet of boats, there was 
nothing very sad about Jack. When the huge club top- 
sail, sitting flat as a board, caused her to careen gently as 
she zipped through the preliminary canter, and when in 
the race she drew out to windward, eating up into the wind 
every chance slant, Charley was watching how Jack’s fin- 
ger-tips gently felt the wheel, and how his eager eye took 
in everything, from the luff of the topsail to the ripples 
on the water or the furthest cloud, and he whispered 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


241 


in his ear: “What about Her Majesty just now, old 
man ? ” 

Jack was too intent on getting up into a favoring breath 
of air to answer ; but he tossed his head to signify that he 
was all right, and fell to marveling that he had not thought 
of Nina for a full hour. 

In spite of the yachting, however, it was difficult to 
keep from being lonely at other times, especially at the 
chambers, because Geoffrey was out of town, taking his 
summer vacation, and Jack was forced to fly from the 
desolation in the city and pass most of his nights on the 
Ideal. This, with the afternoon sailing and a daily bulle- 
tin sent to Nina, addressed to Montreal, served to help 
him to pass away the time until the return of Geoffrey, 
who was greeted, as it were, with open arms. Their 
bachelor quarters were very homelike and comfortable. 
The sitting-room and library, which they shared together, 
always seemed a little lonely when either of them was 
absent. 

Hampstead was pleased to get back to his luxurious 
arm-chair and magazines. Jack’s unsuspicious and wel- 
coming face gave the place all the restfulness of home 
after a period of more or less watchfulness against detec- 
tion. They stretched out their legs from the arm-chairs 
in which they sat, and smoked and really enjoyed them- 
selves in the old way among their newspapers and books. 
After having settled in New York, when he first came to 
America, Geoffrey had employed an old friend, on whose 
secrecy he could rely, to call at his father’s house in 
Shropshire and procure for him all his old relics and curi- 
osities. These the friend had sent out to him. Every 
one of them recalled some more or less interesting mem- 
ory, and as they hung drying in the dust that Mrs. Priest 
seldom attempted to remove they were like a tabular 
index of Geoffrey’s wanderings, on which he could cast 
16 


242 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


his eyes at night and unconsciously drop back into the 
past. There were whips, Tartar bridles, Arab pipes and 
muskets, and old-fashioned firearms. No less than six 
cricket bats proclaimed their nationality, as an offset 
against the stranger trophies. There were foils and masks, 
boxing-gloves, fishing-rods, snow-shoes, old swords, and 
any quantity of what Mrs. Priest called “ rotten old truck, 
only fit for a second-’and shop.” Besides all this, there 
were hanging shelves, covered with cups and other prizes 
that Geoffrey and Jack had won in athletic contests. Even 
the ceiling was made to do duty in exhibiting some lances 
and a central trophy composed of Zulu assegais and 
Malay arrows and such things. These, with the large 
bookcases of books, and, of course, Mrs. Priest, constituted 
their Penates. 

Here Geoffrey ensconced himself for several evenings 
after his return, immersed in his books until long after 
Jack had knocked out his last pipe and turned in. His 
manner of taking his holidays had been an episode which 
was forgotten now if anything arose to divert him, some- 
thing for him to smile at, but powerless to distract his 
attention from a good article in the Nineteenth Century. 

But he did not visit Margaret for three or four days 
after his return. When he saw her again, all his better 
nature came to the fore. He dqligl\ted again in the 
quiet worship he felt for her now that he could see more 
clearly the beauties of temperate life. “ Now,” he said, as 
he stretched himself in his arm-chair one night, after hav- 
ing visited Margaret earlier in the evening, “ now, I will 
soon get married. With Margaret, goodness will not 
only be practicable, but, I can imagine, even enjoyable.” 
Then, after a while, his mind recurred to his holidays, 
which seemed to have been a long time ago. He yawned 
over the subject, and thought it was time to go to bed. 
“ Heigh-ho ! I have exhausted the devil and all his 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


243 


works now. He has got nothing more to offer me that I 
care to accept. Now I have done with risks and worries. 
If I can only get my money affairs straightened out I’ll 
get married in September Federal stock is bound to 
rise, with the new changes in the bank, and then I’ll be 
all right. I’ll just let Lewis have my horse and trap. 
He’ll give me more than I paid for them. The seven 
hundred will wipe out a few things, and then if I can 
turn myself round again. I’ll get married at once.” 

For several days after this he saw Margaret ; and the 
more he saw of her the more he really longed for the life 
that seemed best. He was tired of plot and counterplot. 
As one whose intellect was generally a discerning one, when 
not clouded by exciting vagaries, he had had, all his life, 
the idea of enjoying goodness for itself — at some time or 
other. And entering Margaret’s presence seemed like 
going to a pure spring fountain from which he came away 
refreshed. She had the quick brain that could skim off 
the best of his thought and whip it up and present it in 
a changed and perhaps more pleasing form. Even the 
look of her hands, the way she held up cut flowers, and 
delighted in their faintest odors (to him quite impercep- 
tible) showed how much keener and more refined her sen- 
sibilities were than his own and made him marvel to find 
that in some respects she lived in a world wherein it was 
a physical impossibility for him to enter. As the days 
wore on in which he daily saw her, he found himself mak- 
ing little sacrifices for her sake, and even practicing a trifle 
of self-denial. He did things that he knew would please 
her, and afterward he felt all the healthy glow and ability 
for virtue which are the essences that gracious deeds distill. 
“Doing these things makes me better.” he said. “This 
moral happiness is a thing to be worked up. I can not 
cultivate goodness in the abstract. I must have some- 
thing tangible — something to understand; and if good 


244 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


deeds pay me back in this sort of way I may yet be- 
come, partly through my deeds, what she would wish 
me to be.” 

Full of all this, while ruminating late one night, he 
took it into his head to put it into verse, and he rather 
liked the simple lines. 


TO MARGARET. 


My Love ! I would Love’s true disciple be, 

That, 'neath the king of teachers’ gracious art, 

Refined sense and thought might be to me 
The stepping-stones to lead me to thy heart ; 

That thine own realm of peace I too might share. 

Where Nature’s smallest things show much design 
To teach kind thoughts for all that breathe ; and where, 

As music’s laws compel by rule divine. 

Naught but obeying good gives joy and rest ; 

Where thou can’st note the immaterial scent 
Of thought and thing, which we gross men at best 
Can hardly know, with senses often lent 
To heavy joys that leave us but to long 

For that unknown which makes thyself a song. 

II 

From gracious deeds exhale the perfumes rare 
Of active rest, glad care, and hopeful trust 
The soul snuffs these, well pleased, and seems to share. 

For once, a joy in concord with the dust. 

Thus simple deeds, through Love, make known th’ unknown— 
That immaterial most substantial gain 
Which makes of earth a heaven all its own. 

And claims from spirit-land no sweeter reign. 

So, while I learn in thine own atmosphere 

To live, guard thou with patience all my ways. 

For chance compels when weakness rules, and fear 
Of self brings blackest night unto my days ; 

E’en now, through thee, my worst seems less forlorn. 

And darkness breaks before the blushing morn. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


245 


He wondered that the word “ soul ” had as yet no syn- 
onym to express what he meant without, as he said, “ bor- 
rowing the language of superstition.” For this he claimed 
poetical license. He was amused at the similarity of his 
verse to some kind of religious prayer or praise. “ Per- 
haps,” he said, “all loves, when sufficiently refined, have 
only one language — whether the aspirations be addressed 
to Chemosh or Dagon or Mary or Jahveh, or to the woman 
who embodies all one knows of good. But perhaps, more 
likely, the song that perfect love sings in the heart has no 
possible language, but is part of ‘ the choir invisible whose 
music is the gladness of the world,’ and to which we have 
all been trying to put words, in religions and poems. 

“ In twenty thousand years from now,” he said, smiling, 
“ archaeologists will be fighting over a discussion as to 
whether, in these early days, any superstition still existed. 
Just before they come to blows over the matter my son- 
nets will be found, produced, and deciphered, and there 
will be rejoicing on one side to have it proved that at a 
certain time Anno Domini (an era supposed to refer to 
one Abraham or Buddha) man still claimed that a local 
god existed called * Margaret,’ who was evidently wor- 
shiped with fervor. 

“ But certainly,” he added, as he read the sonnet for 
the third time, “ their mistake will not be such a palpable 
one as that about the Song of Solomon.” 


246 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


CHAPTER XX. 

Never but once to meet on earth again ! 

She heard me as I fled— her eager tone 
Sank on my heart, and almost wove a chain 
Around my will to link it with her own, 

So that my stern resolve was almost gone. 

“ I can not reach thee ! whither dost thou fly ? 

“ My steps are faint. Come back, thou dearest one ! 

“ Return, ah me ! return ! ’’—The wind passed by 
On which those accents died, faint, far, and lingeringly. 

Shfxley, The Revolt 0/ Islam. 

After a prolonged visit in Montreal, Nina had been 
back in Toronto for a short time, during which she had 
seen no one except Jack, whose two visits she had ren- 
dered so unpleasant that he felt inclined to do anything 
from hara-kari to marrying somebody else. ^ 

At this time Geoffrey received a note one morning 
addressed in Nina’s handwriting. He turned pale as he 
tore it open : 

Dear Mr. Hampstead : I wish to see you for a mo- 
ment this afternoon. If not too much trouble, would you 
call here at five o’clock? Yours sincerely, 

“Mossbank, Tuesday. Nina Lindon.” 

There was nothing very exciting on the face of this 
line, nothing to create wrath. Yet Geoffrey tore it into 
shreds as if it had struck him a blow and was dan- 
gerous. 

When he was shown into the drawing-room at Moss- 
bank that afternoon, he was stepping forward with court- 
eous demeanor and a faint “ company smile ” on his face, 
ready to look placidly and innocently upon any people 
who might be calling at the time. He passed noiselessly 
over the thick carpets toward the place where Nina was 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


247 


sitting, seeing quickly that there was nobody else in the 
room, but aware that the servant was probably at the 
door. 

“How-de-do, Miss Lindon.?” he said aloud, for the 
benefit of the inquisitive. “ So you have come back to 
Toronto at last ? ” 

“Yes,” said Nina, also with an engaging smile. “And 
how have you been since I saw you last ? ” There was a 
charming inflection in her “ company voice ” as she said 
these words. Then, raising her tone a little, she said 
“ Howard.” 

The servant outside the door took several steps in a 
circle on the tesselated pavement of the hall to intimate 
that he approached from afar and then appeared. 

“ Shut the door, please, Howard,” said Nina softly. 
The man obliterated himself. 

As soon as ‘they were alone the heavenly sweetness of 
the caller and the called upon vanished. Geoffrey’s face 
became grave and his eyes penetrating. He went toward 
her and took her hand in an effort to be kind, while 
he looked at her searchingly with a pale face. Nina 
looked weary and anxious. Neither of them spoke for a 
while. As Geoffrey regarded her, she turned to him be- 
seechingly with both anxiety and affection in her expres- 
sion. What he interpreted from the unhappiness of her 
visage was more than sufficient to disturb his equanimity. 
He got up and walked silently and quickly twice back- 
ward and forward. During this moment his mind appar- 
ently made itself up on some point finally, for, as he sat 
down as abruptly as he had risen, the tension of his face 
gave place to something more like nonchalance and kind- 
ness. 

“ You have something to tell me ? ” he said, in tones 
that endeavored to be kind. 

Nina’s face — sad, sorrowful, and tearful — bent itself 


248 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


low that she might hide it from his sight. “Yes,” she 
managed to say at last, almost inaudibly. 

Geoffrey endeavored to assist her. “ Don’t say any 
more,” said he. “ Bad news, I suppose ? ” 

“ The very worst,” cried Nina, starting up, her eyes 
dilating wildly and despairingly with a sudden accession 
of fear. 

“ Hush, hush ! ” said Geoffrey, laying his hand sooth- 
ingly and kindly on her arm. “You must not give way 
like that. You must control yourself. We have both of 
us too much at stake to tell our story to every one who 
likes to listen. Come and let us sit down and talk things 
over sensibly.” 

She gave him a quick look, half reproach, as if to say, 
“ It is easy for you to be calm.” But she sat down beside 
him, holding his coat-sleeve with both hands — hardly know- 
ing what she did. 

Hampstead leaned back, crossed his long legs in 
front of him, and counted the eyelet holes in his boot. 
Then he took her hand, in order to appear kind and to 
deal with the matter in an off-hand way. 

“As Thackeray says, Nina, * truly, friend, life is strewn 
with orange-peel.’ Now and then we get a bad tumble ; but 
we always get up again. And I don’t think that we ought 
to allow ourselves to be counted among those weak creat- 
ures who most complain of the strength of a temptation 
that takes at least a year to work up. After all, there is 
no denying Rochefoucauld’s wisdom when he said : ‘ C’est 
une esp^ce de bonheur de connaitre jusques k quel point 
on doit etre malheureux.’ I have been in a good many 
worries one way or another, and I always got out of them. 
We will get out of this one all right, so cheer up and take 
heart.” 

“I don’t see how,” said Nina, turning her head away 
and feeling a sudden hope. What was he going to say ? 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


249 


Then she recollected that she had lavished a small income 
on a dress especially for this interview. Perhaps if he 
had an idea worth the hearing the dress might help it out. 
She arose, as if absently, and walked to the side window 
and rested her elbows against the sash in front of her. 
The attitude was graceful. As she turned half over her 
shoulder to look back at him she could hardly have ap- 
peared to better advantage. Her dress was really magnifi- 
cent, and it fitted a form that was ideal. In spite of his 
late resolutions, Geoffrey was affected by the cunningly 
devised snare. A quick thought came through his head, 
which he banished about as quickly as it came. 

“ Well, of course, there is only one thing to be done,” 
said he decisively, in a tone which told her that so far she 
had failed. 

“ What is that, dear Geoffrey ? Do tell me, for I am 
very, very miserable. And say it kindly, Geoffrey. Don’t 
be too hard with me now.” 

As she said this she swept toward him. She sank 
down beside him and kissed him, and looked up into 
his face. Again the thought came to him. Here were 
riches. Here was a woman whose beauty was talked 
about in every city in Canada, who could be his pride, 
who cared for him despairingly. If he wished, this man- 
sion and wealth could be his. The delicate perfumes 
about her seemed to steal into his brain and affect his 
thought. 

An hour ago his resolves for himself had appeared so 
unchangeable that they seemed of themselves to prop him 
up. And now he found himself trying, with a brain that 
refused to assist him, to prop up his resolutions, trying to 
remember what their best merits had been. One glim- 
mer of an idea was left in him — a purpose to preserve his 
fealty to Margaret, and he thought that, if he could only 
get away for a moment to think quietly, he might remem- 


250 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


ber what the best points of his resolutions had been. The 
perfumes, the beauty, the wealth, the liking he felt for 
her, the duty he owed to her, and perhaps her concentra- 
tion upon what she desired — all conspired against him. 
But, with this part of an idea left to him, he succeeded in 
being able slightly to turn his head away. 

When she asked him again what was to be done there 
was an unreal decisiveness in his voice as he said : 

Of course, the only thing to be done is for you to 
immediately marry Jack.” 

She sprang from him as if he had stabbed her. She 
was furious with disappointment. 

“ I will never marry Jack ! What a dishonorable thing 
to propose ! ” 

The idea of dishonor to Jack seemed, for the first 
time, quite an argument. When the ethics of a matter 
can be utilized they suddenly seem cogent. 

“Very well,” said Geoffrey, shrugging his shoulders 
and rising as if to go away. “ My idea was ‘ any port in 
a storm ’ — a poor idea, perhaps, and certainly, as you say, 
entirely dishonorable, but still feasible. Of course, if you 
have made up your mind not to marry him, we may as 
well consider the interview as ended. I’m afraid I have 
nothing more to suggest.” 

He did not intend to go away, but he held out his 
hand as if about to say good-by. She stood half turned 
away trying to think. The idea of his leaving her to her 
trouble dazed her. She was terrified to realize that she 
would be without help. 

“ Oh, how cruel you are ! ” 

She almost groaned as she spoke. She was in despair. 
She put her hands to her head hopelessly, her eyes 
dilated with trouble. 

“ Don’t go yet, Geoffrey.” Then she tried to nerve 
herself for what she had to say. After a pause : “ Geof- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


251 

frey, I can say things to you now, that I could never have 
said before. I must speak to you fully before you go. I 
must leave no stone unturned. There is no one to help 
me, so I must look after myself in what must be said. I 
went away with you, Geoffrey, because I loved you.” She 
bit her lips to stay her tears and stopped to regain a des- 
perate fortitude. “ I cared for you so much that being 
with you seemed right — nay more, sacred. Oh, it drags 
me to the dust to speak in this way ! But I must. Does 
not my ruin give me a right to speak ? The question of a 
girl’s reticence must be put away. I am forced to do the 
best I can for myself. And now I say, will you stand by 
me ? ” Her head drooped and her hands hung down by 
her side with shame at the position she forced herself to 
take when she added : “Will you do me justice, Geoffrey ? 
Will you marry me ? ” 

Hampstead was about to speak, but she knew at once 
that she had asked too much, and she continued more 
quickly and more despairingly: “Nay, I won’t ask so 
much. I only ask you to take me away. I am distracted. 
I don’t know what to do. I will do anything. I will be 
your slave. You need not marry me — only take me away 
and hide me — somewhere — anywhere — for God’s sake, 
Geoffrey, from my shame — from my disgrace.” 

She was on her knees before him as she said these last 
words. If our pleasure-loving acquaintance could have 
changed places with a galley-slave at that moment he 
would have done so gladly. 

The first thing he did was to endeavor to quiet the 
wildness of her despair. To be surprised by any person 
with her on her knees before him in an agony of tears 
would be a circumstance difficult to explain away. 

As soon as he began to talk, it seemed to him a most 
dastardly thing to sacrifice Margaret’s life now to conceal 
his own wrong-doing. In the light of this idea, Nina’s 


252 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


wealth and beauty suddenly became tawdry. Margaret’s 
nobility and happiness suddenly seemed worth dying for. 
They must not be wrecked in a moment of weakness. As 
if dispassionately, he laid before Nina the history of their 
acquaintance, and also his other obligations Really, it 
placed him in a very awkward, not to say absurd, position. 
He wished to do what was right, but did not see his way 
at all clear. The only way was to efface himself entirely, 
and consider only what was due to others. Before the 
world he was engaged to Margaret, and had been so all 
along. She had his word that he would marry her. If it 
were only his word ” that had to be broken, that might 
be done. But was the happiness of Margaret’s life to be 
cast aside ? Which, of the two, was the more innocent — 
which, of the two, had the better right or duty to bear 
the brunt of the disaster ? 

The way he effaced his own personality in this dis- 
course was almost picturesque. Justice blindfold, with 
impartial scales in her hand, was nothing to him. 

Nina said no word from beginning to end. All she 
heard in the discourse was something to show her more 
and more that what she wished must be given up. It was 
something to know that at least she had tried every means 
in her power to move him — feeling that she had a help- 
less woman’s right to do so. And as the deep, kindly 
tones went on they calmed her and gradually compelled 
her tacitly and wearily to accept his suggestion, while his 
ingenuity showed her the sinuous path that lay before 
her. 

At the same time, in spite of all his arguments and her 
own resolutions, she could not clearly see why she should 
be the one to suffer instead of Margaret. Margaret had 
so much more strength of character to assist her. The 
ability to bear up under sorrow and trouble was a virtue 
she was ready to acknowledge to be weaker in herself 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


253 


than in others. The confession of this weakness, through 
self-pity, seemed half a virtue, even though only made to 
insist upon compensations. 

The next day. Jack called by appointment. 

“I thought I would just send for you. Jack,” said 
Nina, looking half angry and half smiling. “ I felt as if 
I wanted to give trouble to somebody, and I thought you 
were the most available person.” 

“ Go ahead, then, old lady. I can stand it. There 
is nothing a fellow may not become accustomed to.” 

Jack seated himself in one of Nina’s new easy-chairs 
which yielded to his weight so luxuriously that he thought 
he would like to get one like it. He felt the softness of 
the long arms of the chair, and then, regaining his feet, 
turned it round. 

“ That’s a nice chair, Nina. How much did it put the 
old man back ? ” 

Nina looked at him inquiringly. 

“ Cost — you know. How much did it spoil the old 
man?” 

“ How do I know ? He bought it in New York with a 
lot of things. Do you suppose I keep an inventory of 
prices to assist me in conversation?” 

“ I wish you did. I’d like to get one. But I don’t 
know. When we get married you can hand it out the 
back gate to me, you know, and then we’ll be one chair 
ahead — and a good one, too.” 

“ I do wish you would leave off referring to getting 
married,” said Nina. And then, “ By the way, that is 
what I wanted to speak to you about — ” 

Jack smiled. “Be careful,” he said. “ Don’t set me 
a bad example by referring to the subject yourself.”' 

“ Well, I will, for a change. I have been making up 
my mind to end this way of dragging on existence. This 


254 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


sort of neither-one-thing-nor-the-other has got to end. It 
wearies me. I am not half as strong as I was. I went 
away to pick up, and now I am no better.” 

“ And how do you propose to end it ? ” Jack was sur- 
prised at the decision in her voice. 

“ I propose to break it off all together,” said she 
firmly. 

“Of course,” said Jack, “there is no other alternative 
for you but marriage.” 

Nina was startled at first by these words. But he had 
only spoken them casually. 

“Certainly. A break off or marriage are the only 
alternatives. Going on like this is what I will not stand 
any longer.” 

Jack was shaking in his shoes for fear this was the 
last of him. He controlled his anxiety, though, and shut- 
ting his eyes, he leaned back, supinely, as if he knew that 
what he said did not matter much. She would do as she 
liked — no question about that ! 

“ I have, I think, at some previous time,” said he, from 
the recesses of the chair where he was calmly judicial 
with his eyes shut, “ advocated the desirability of mar- 
riage. I think I have mentioned the subject before. Of 
course, this is only an opinion, and not entitled, perhaps, to 
a great deal of weight.” 

Nina for the first time in her life was annoyed that 
Jack was not sufficiently ardent. The unfortunate young 
man had had cold water thrown over him too many times. 
He was getting wise. To-day he was keeping out of 
range. Nina had been decidedly eccentric lately and 
might give him his congd at any moment. She was evi- 
dently in a queer mood still, and, to-day. Jack would 
give her no chance to gird at him. 

This well- trained care on his part bid fair to make 
things awkward. She saw that it had become necessary 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


255 


to draw him out, and with this object in view she asked 
carelessly, as if she had been absent-minded and had not 
heard him : 

“ What did you say then. Jack ? ” 

“ I was merely hinting, delicately, as an outsider might, 
that, of the two important alternatives, marriage seems to 
offer you a greater scope for breaking up the ennui of a 
single life that a mere change from one form of single life 
to another.” 

Jack did not see the bait she was holding out. He 
would not rise to it. Really, it was maddening to have to 
lead Jack on. He had been “ trained down too fine.” 

“Well, for my part,” she said laughingly, with her 
cheek laid against the soft plush of the sofa, “ I don’t 
seem to care now which of the alternatives is adopted.” 

Jack remained quiet when he heard this. Then he 
said coolly : “If I were not a wise man, that speech of 
yours would unduly excite me. But you said you wanted 
some one to annoy, and I won’t give you a chance. If I 
took the advantage of the possibilities in your words we 
would certainly have a row. No, old lady, you are set- 
ting a trap for me, in order that you may scold afterward. 
You like having a row with me, but you can’t have one 
to-day. ‘ Burnt child ’ — you know.” 

What could be more provoking than this. Nina, in 
spite of her troubles, saw the absurdity of her position, 
and laughed into the plush. But her patience was at an 
end. She sat upright again and said vehemently : 

“ Jack Cresswell, you are a born fool ! ” 

He looked up himself, then, from the chair. There 
was an expression in Nina’s face that he had not seen for 
a long time — a consenting and kind look in her eyes. He 
got up, slowly, without any haste, still doubtful of the 
situation; and as he came toward her his breath grew 
shorter. “ I believe I am a fool, but I could not believe 


256 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


what I wished. Is it true, Nina, that you will take me at 
last ? ’’ 

“ Listen ! Come and sit down, boy, and behave your- 
self.” 

Jack obeyed mechanically. 

She turned around to face him, while she commanded 
his obedience and gave her directions with finger up- 
raised, as if she were teaching a dog to sit up. 

“ To-morrow you will call upon my father at his office 
and ask his consent to our immediate marriage.” 

“Tell me to do something hard, Nina. I feel rather 
cooped up, just now. I could spring over that chandelier. 
I don’t mind tackling the old man — that’s nothing. 
Haven’t you got some lions’ dens that want looking 
after ? ” 

“You’ll feel tired enough when you come out of fath- 
er’s den. Til warrant.” 

“ I dare say. What if h^ refuses ? ” 

“Jack,” said Nina, “I am an heiress. I dictate to 
every man but my father. I have always had my own 
way, and always mean to have it. So, beware ! But I 
don’t care, now, whether he refuses or not. I have come 
to the conclusion that it was this long engagement that 
worried me, and I am going to end it in short order. I 
am getting as thin as a scarecrow. My bones are coming 
through my dress.” Nina felt the top of one superbly 
rounded arm and declared she could feel her collar-bone 
coming through in that improbable place. “ No, I don’t 
care whether he refuses or not. I am going to marry 
you. Jack, before the end of the week.” 

Next day Jack found himself not quite so brave as he 
thought he would be on entering Mr. Joseph Lindon’s 
office. He was ushered into a rather shabby little back 
room, which the millionaire thought was quite good enough 
for him. He took a pride in its shabbiness. Joseph Lin- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


257 


don, he said, did not have to impress people with brass 
and Brussels. There was more solid monetary credit in his 
threadbare carpet than in all the plate glass and gilt of 
any other establishment in the city. 

Cresswell paused on the threshold as he entered, and 
then, feeling glad that nobody else was in the room, ad- 
vanced toward Mr. Lin don. Lindon saw him out of, the 
corner of his eye as he came in, and a saturnine smile re- 
laxed his face while he completed a sentence in a letter 
which he was writing. 

“Good morning. Jack.” he said briskly. “Come at 
last, have you ? ” 

This was rather disconcerting, but Jack replied : “ Yes, 
and you evidently know why.” He said this cheerfully 
and wdth considerable spirit, but Mr. Lindon’s next remark 
was a little chilling. 

“Just so. I was afraid you would come some day. 
Let us cut it short, my boy. I have a board meeting in 
ten minutes.” 

“ Well, you know all I’ve got to say. Now, what do 
you say ? ” 

This was a happy abruptness on Jack’s part, and Lin- 
don rather liked him for it. It seemed business like. It 
seemed as if Jack thought too highly of Mr. Lindon’s sa- 
gacity to indulge in any persuasion or argument. He lay 
back in his chair with an amused look. 

“ Why, dammit, boy, she’s not in love with you.” 

Jack shrugged his shoulders and smiled — as if that was 
a point on which modesty compelled him to be silent. 
But his individuality asserted itself. 

“ Is that all the objection ? ” 

Evidently, abruptness and speaking to the point were 
preferred in this office, and Jack was prepared to give 
the millionaire all the abruptness he wanted. 

“ No,” said Lindon. “ Of course, that is not all. But 
17 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


258 

I know, as a matter of fact, that my daughter does not care 
a pin about you. Don’t think I have been making money 
all my life. I can tell when a woman is in love as well as 
any man. I have watched Nina myself when you were 
with her, and I tell you she does not care half enough for 
you to marry you.” 

She says she does,” said Jack, determined not to be 
browbeaten by this man’s force. 

“ I don’t believe a word of it, if she does say so. I 
was afraid, at one time, that she was going to make a 
goose of herself with you, and I waltzed her off to the 
Continent. But after she came back I thoroughly satisfied 
myself that she was in no danger, or else, my boy, you 
would not have had the run of my house as you have had. 
Under the circumstances, Jack, I was always glad to see 
you, since we came back last, and hope to see you always, 
just the same. Quite apart, however, from anything she 
may say or consent to, I have other plans for my daughter. 
I have no son to carry on the name, but my daughter’s 
marriage will be a grand one. With her beauty and my 
money, she will make the biggest match of the day. I did 
not start with much of a family myself, but I can control 
family. When Nina marries, sir, she marries blood ; noth- 
ing less than a dook, sir, — nothing less than a dook will 
satisfy me. And I’ll have a dook, sir ; mark my words ! ” 

When his ambition was aroused, Mr. Lindon sometimes 
reverted to the more marked vulgarity of forty years ago. 

Jack arose. The interview was ended as far as he was 
concerned. 

Lindon felt kindly toward him. He was one of the 
few young men who were not overawed by his money and 
obsequious on account of his wine. 

Well, good-by,” he said. “Don’t let this make any 
interruption in your visits to Mossbank. You’ll always 
find a good glass of wine ready for you with Joseph Lin- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


259 

don. I rather like you, Jack, and if you ever want any 
backing, just let me know. But, my boy ” — here Lindon 
regarded him as kindly as his keen, business-loving face 
would allow, and he laid his hand on his arm — my lad, 
you must be careful. Remember what an old man says — 
you’re too honest to get along all through life without get- 
ting put upon. You must try to see into things a little 
more. Just try and be a little more suspicious. If you 
don’t, somebody will ‘ go for you,’ sure as a gun.” 

Jack saw that this was intended kindly, and he took it 
quietly, wondering if Joseph Lindon, while looking so un- 
commonly sober, could have been indulging in a morning 
glass of wine. He went out, and Mr. Lindon watched 
his free, manly bearing as he passed to the front door. 

“If I had a son like that,” he said warmly, “Nina 
could marry whom she liked. That boy would be family 
enough for me. He would have enough of the gentleman 
about him both for himself and his old father. Lord, if 
I had a son like that I’d make a prince of him ! I’d just 
give him blank checks signed with my name. Darned if I 
wouldn’t ! ” 

To give a son unfilled signed checks seemed to be a 
culmination of parental foolishness which would show his 
fondness more than anything else he could do. Perhaps 
he was right. 


CHAPTER XXL 

Life is so complicated a game that the devices of skill are liable to be 
defeated at every turn by air-blov^^n chances incalculable as the descent of 
thistledown.— George Eliot’s Romola. 

During Jack’s visit to her father’s office, Nina passed 
the time in desultory shopping until she met him on King 
Street. 


26 o 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


“ I need not ask what your success was,” said she, smil- 
ing, as she joined him. ‘‘Your face shows that clearly 
enough.” 

“Nothing less than a dook,” groaned Jack, good- 
humoredly. “ He seems to think they can be had at auc- 
tion sales in England.” 

“I am glad he refused,” said Nina, “because his con- 
sent would delay my whims. We have done our duty in 
asking him, and now I am going to marry you to-morrow. 
Jack.” 

“ To-morrow.? ” 

“Yes, I am afraid, dear Jack, that if I allowed the 
marriage to be put off till next week or longer you might 
change your mind.” She gave Jack a look that disturbed 
thought. Affection toward him on her part was some- 
thing so new that this, together with her startling an- 
nouncement, made it difficult for him accurately to dis- 
tinguish his head from his heels. 

“ But I can not leave the bank at a moment’s notice.” 

“ No ; but you can get your holidays a week sooner. 
You were going to take them in a week.” 

“ Had we not better wait, then, for the week to ex- 
pire ? ” 

“ Fiddlesticks ! Don’t you see that I want to give you 
a chance ? What I am really afraid of is that I shall 
change my own mind. Father said only yesterday he was 
thinking of taking me to England at once. If you don’t 
want to take your chances you can take your conse- 
quences instead.” 

It did not seem anything new or strange to Jack that 
she should give a little stamp of her foot imperiously, and 
in all the willfulness of a spoiled child determine suddenly 
upon carrying out a whim in spite of any objections. 
And Jack needed no great force of argument to push him 
on in this matter. His head was throbbing with excite- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


261 


ment. To think of the bank was habitual to him; but 
the wildness of the new move commended itself to his 
young blood. The holidays were a mere matter of ar- 
rangement, for the most part, between the clerks, and 
he thought he saw his way to arranging for a fortnight’s 
absence. “ I’ll make it all right,” he said, thinking aloud* 
“ I will arrange it with Sappy.” 

Whether ** Sappy ” was the bank manager or a fellow- 
clerk did not at the moment interest Nina. 

“ Why, Nina, I didn’t know you were a person to go 
in for anything half so wild. It suits me. It will be the 
spree of my life ! But how have you arranged everything ? 
or have you arranged anything.^ ” 

‘‘ Oh, there is nothing very much to arrange. I know 
you can not leave the bank finally without giving due 
notice. So we will just go off now and get married, and 
when you come back, after a week or so, you can give the 
usual notice and then we will go to California. If your 
brother there wants you to go into the grape-farming he 
must know well enough that you have better chances there 
than here in the bank, and if, after all, the business there 
did not get on well, I dare say father will have changed 
his mind by that time.” 

“And how will you account for your absence from 
home ? ” 

“ Nothing simpler,” said she, with a sagacious toss of 
her head. “ I am just telegraphing to Sophronia B. Hop- 
kins at Lockport, New Y ork. Y ou remember Sophronia B., 
when she was with us ? I have telegraphed that I am com- 
ing to see her. She will answer to say ‘ Come along ’ ; and 
then I will put her off for a couple of weeks and tell her to 
keep any letters forwarded for me from here until I come.” 

Jack was astonished. “ I thought your head was only 
valuable as an ornament,” said he, with affectionate rude- 


ness. 


262 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


“ I have never, with you, had occasion to use it before. 
To-morrow, at half-past seven in the morning, you will 
take the train for Hamilton. I will take the 9.30 and we 
will go through to Buffalo together, where we will arrive 
about two o’clock, and then we can be married there and 
go West. But we need not arrange anything more now. 
You will be at the Campbells’ to-night, and anything fur- 
ther can be spoken about there. Go off now to the bank 
and get everything ready. And, by the way. Jack ” — here 
she held out her hand as if for good-by — while she asked, 
with what seemed to Jack an almost unimaginable coquetry 
and beauty, “you won’t change your mind, dear Jack?” 
She gave him one glance from under her sweeping eye- 
lashes, and then she left him to grope his way to the bank. 

She thought, as she walked along, “ I think I have read 
somewhere that ‘ whom the gods wish to take they first 
drive mad,’ or something like that. It is just as well, as 
Geoffrey suggested, to keep Jack slightly insane to-day. It 
will prevent him from thinking my proposal strange. Poor 
Jack ! To-day he would give me his right arm as a pres- 
ent. How shabbily I have treated him, and how well he 
has always behaved ! ” 

About eleven on the following forenoon. Jack was wait- 
ing in the dining-room of the Hamilton railway station, 
looking out through the window to see Nina’s train come 
in. He thought it better to escape observation in this 
way. Nor did Nina indulge in looking out the window of 
the Pullman. Everything had been fully arranged, and 
as the bridge train moved out of the station. Jack left his 
obscure post of observation and hastily passed through 
the crowd on the station and got on board the “ smoker ” 
in front. When clear of Hamilton he made his way back 
through the cars to the drawing-room car, where he found 
Nina, who was beginning to look a little anxious for his 
arrival. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


263 

The train took nearly two hours to trundle along to 
the bridge. For a time they talked together, but Nina 
was feeling the reaction of the excitement of getting away. 
She had had a good deal to do, and she did not feel that 
going away with Jack would prevent her from enjoying a 
fairly comfortable nap in the large swinging arm-chairs. 
She soon dozed off, and Jack, who was pleased to see her 
rest, walked to the end of the car and back again to calm 
his nerves. This sort of thing was new to him. He had 
a novel with him, but he could not read it. His “ only 
books were woman’s looks ” to-day. Other people’s ad- 
ventures seemed poor to him just now, in comparison with 
his own. 

While thus moving about restlessly he became a little 
interested in an elderly gentleman, evidently a clergyman, 
who was sitting unobtrusively behind a copy of the Detroit 
Church Herald. He passed this retiring person several 
times, in loitering about, and then, seeing him with his 
paper laid down beside him, stopped and said cheerfully : 

Got the car all to ourselves to-day.” 

Yes,” said the grave-looking person, with an Ameri- 
can accent. “And pleasant, too, on a warm day like this. 
It’s worth the extra quarter to get out from among the cry- 
ing babies and orange-peel and come in here and travel 
comfortably. Going far ? ” 

“ Only as far as Buffalo,” said Jack, taking a seat be- 
side him, for want of anything better to do. 

“ That is where I reside.” 

“Ah, indeed!” said Jack. “You make Buffalo the 
scene of your official duties?” 

The other nodded. “ I have been for a visit to De- 
troit, and now I am going back to relieve my superior in 
the church, so that he may take a holiday also. I think 
we clergy need a holiday as much as any other people I 
ever saw. Do you know Buffalo at all ? ” 


264 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


“ Never was there in my life,’’ said Jack. 

“ Humph ! Well, it ain’t a bad place, Buffalo, when 
you know the people well. I have only been there five 
years, but I have found in our congregation some real nice 
folks. Of course, mine is the Episcopal Church, and I 
have generally found the Episcopalians, in my sojournings 
in different places, to be the superior people of the lo- 
cality.” 

From the compliment to the Episcopalians it was evi- 
dent that the clergyman had no doubt Jack belonged to 
that aristocratically inclined sect, and Jack smiled at his 
friend's shrewdness, forgetting the fact that “ Church of 
England — mild, acquiescent, and gentlemanly ” — was writ- 
ten all over him, and that the cut of his clothes, the shape 
of his whisker, the turn of his head when listening, and 
even the solidity of his utility-first boots made it almost 
impossible for any person to suppose he belonged to any 
other denomination. 

“ I have heard,” Jack .said, “ that the Buffalo people, 
many of them, have lots of money, and that they give 
freely to the churches. I suppose money is an element in 
a congregation which gentlemen of your calling do not 
object to ? ” 

It seemed to Jack that the long gray eyes of the minis- 
ter smiled at this point more because he thought he was 
expected to smile than from any sense of mirth. He was 
a grave man, who, behind a dignified reserve, seemed 
capable of taking in a great deal at a glance. 

“ No one can deny the power of money,” he said. “ But, 
though there is a good deal of it in St. James’s Church, 
what with a paid choir, and the church debt, and repairs, 
and the new organ, and the paying of my superior in 
office, I can tell you there is not very much left for the 
person who plays second fiddle, as one may say.” 

“Ah ! ” said Jack sympathetically. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


265 

“ When a man has a wife and a growing family to sup- 
port and bring up in a large city, and prices away up, 
twelve hundred dollars a year don’t go a very great ways, 
young man, and if it were not for our perquisites some of 
us would find it difficult to make both ends of the string 
meet around the parcel we have got to carry.” 

Jack was becoming slightly interested in this man and 
was wondering what his previous history was. He won- 
dered that his new acquaintance had not made more 
money than he seemed to possess. There was something 
behind his grave immobility of countenance that suggested 
ability of some sort, he did not know what. His slightly 
varying expressions of countenance did not always seem 
to appear spontaneously, but to be placed there by a di- 
recting intelligence that first considered what expression 
would be the right one. It seemed like a peculiar man- 
nerism which might in another man be the result of a 
slightly sluggish brain. 

They conversed with each other all the way to the 
bridge, and although the dignified reserve of the clergy- 
man never quite thawed out. Jack began to rather like 
him and be interested in his large fund of information 
about the United States and anecdotes of frontier life in 
California, where as a youth he had had a varied experi- 
ence. 

Their baggage was examined by the customs officer on 
the American side of the bridge, and the clergyman no- 
ticed a monogram in silver on Nina’s shopping-bag, ‘‘ N. 
L.,” and the initials “ J. C.” on Jack’s valises, and came 
to the conclusion from Jack’s studied attentions to Nina 
when she awoke that, if the young couple were not mar- 
ried yet, it was quite time they were ; and no doubt it 
entered the clerical mind that there might be a marriage 
fee for himself to come out of the little acquaintance. In 
view of this he renewed the conversation himself after the 


266 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


car went on by the New York Central toward Buffalo. 
Jack introduced the Rev. Matthew Simpson to Nina, and 
he made the short run to Buffalo still shorter with amus- 
ing stories of clerical life, ending up with one about his 
own marriage, which was not the less interesting on ac- 
count of its being a runaway match and the fact that he 
had never regretted it. Jack felt that behind this elderly 
man’s dignity there was a heart that understood the world 
and knew what young people were. So he told a short 
story on his account, which did not seem to surprise the 
reverend gentleman a great deal, and it was arranged that 
he should perform the ceremony for them at the hotel. 
On arriving in Buffalo they left their luggage at the sta- 
tion, intending to go on to Cleveland at four o’clock. On 
the way up Main Street, Mr. Simpson pointed out St. 
James’s Church — a large edifice, partly covered with ivy — 
and also showed the parsonage where he lived. He urged 
them to wait and be married in the church, but Nina 
shunned the publicity of it and pleaded their want of 
time. 

J^ck and Nina had some dinner at the Genesee House, 
while Mr. Simpson got the marriage license ready. As 
luck would have it, Mr. Simpson himself issued marriage 
licenses, which, as he explained, also assisted him to eke 
out his small income ; and as soon as they had had a hur- 
ried lunch, they all retired to a private parlor and the 
marriage ceremony was performed very quietly. 

Two waiters were called in as witnesses, and it was 
arranged that on their return to Buffalo in a few days, 
they could call at the parsonage and then sign the church 
register, for which there was now no time before the four 
o’clock train left for Cleveland. The license was pro- 
duced, filled out, and signed in due form, and on the 
large red seal were stamped the words, “ Matthew Simp- 
son, Issuer of Marriage Licenses.” The presence of the 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


267 

Stamp showed that he was a duly authorized person, and 
satisfied Jack that in employing a chance acquaintance 
he was not making any mistake. 

They were glad when the ceremony was finished, and 
Jack was very pleasant with Mr. Simpson. They all got 
into the cab again, and rattled off toward the station. As 
they came near the parsonage of St. James’s Church, Mr. 
Simpson said he thought he would go as far as the suburbs 
with them in their train to see how some people in the 
hospital were getting on. He said he would get down, 
now, at the parsonage, because he wished to take some- 
thing with him to one of the patients, but that they must 
not risk losing the train. 

“ I will take another cab and meet you at the train. 
It is not a matter of much moment if I fail to catch it ; 
but, Mr. Cresswell, if you get a bottle of wine into the car 
(perhaps you will have time to get it at the station), I will 
be pleased to drink Mrs. Cresswell’s health.” 

“That’s a capital idea,” said Jack with spirit. “The 
wine will be doubtful, perhaps, but that won’t be my 
fault. And now,” he added, as the carriage stopped at 
the parsonage, “ I want to leave with you your fee, Mr. 
Simpson, and I hope you will not consider that it cancels 
our indebtedness to you.” Jack pulled out a roll of 
bills. 

“ Never mind, my dear young man,” said Mr. Simp- 
son heartily, “ any time will do. I will catch you at the 
station, and, if I don’t, you can leave it with me when 
you return here to sign the register.” 

Mr. Simpson got out, and Jack, finding he had only 
two five dollar bills, the rest being all in fifties, was rather 
in a dilemma how to pay Mr. Simpson twenty dollars for 
his fee. 

“ Here ; ” he said hurriedly, handing out a fifty, “ you 
get this changed, if you have time, on your way down. 


268 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


You may possibly miss us at the station, and I can not 
hear of your waiting until we return.’' 

“Very well,” said Mr. Simpson, speaking as fast as his 
tongue would let him, “ I will have to take my chance, 
and, if I can not catch you, just call in for the balance 
when you return. Don’t lose a moment ! ” With a wave 
of his hand and a direction to the driver, Mr. Simpson 
went hurriedly up the parsonage steps, and the cab dashed 
off toward the Michigan Southern depot. 

Jack had time to purchase the wine, which ought to 
have been good, judging from the price. Unfortunately, 
Mr. Simpson was too late to join them. The train went 
off without him, and Jack and Nina drank his jolly good 
health in half the bottle, and afterward the Pullman con- 
ductor struggled successfully with the rest. 

Altogether they were in high spirits. Jack especially, 
and Nina’s thankfulness for being safely married to one 
of the best of men made her very aimable. 

Mr. and Mrs. John Cresswell approached Buffalo again, 
from the West, at the close of Jack’s two weeks’ holidays. 
They decided that it would be better for Nina to go 
straight to Lockport on the train which connected with 
the one on which they were traveling. There was noth- 
ing for Nina to do in Buffalo but sign the register and get 
her marriage “lines” from Mr. Simpson, and Jack could 
do this, they thought, without a delay on her part to do so. 
To arrange about the register she had written her name on 
a narrow slip of paper which Jack could paste in the book 
at the parsonage. This they considered would suffice, 
and Nina went on to pay her intended visit to Sophronia 
B. Hopkins. The run to Lockport occupied only a short 
time, and then she went to her friend’s house. 

In the mean time Jack, who was not like the husband 
in Punch in that stage of the honeymoon when the pres- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


269 

ence of a friend “or even an enemy ” would be a grateful 
change of companionship, walked up Main Street smok- 
ing a cigar and trying to make the best of his sudden be- 
reavement. He said after the first ten minutes that he 
was infernally lonely, but still the flavor of the cigar was 
from fair to middling. And, after all, tobacco and quiet 
contemplation have a place in life which can not be alto- 
gether neglected, and they come in well again after a while, 
no matter what may have caused their temporary banish- 
ment. 

He strolled leisurely up to the parsonage and inquired 
for Mr. Simpson. The maid-servant said he did not live 
there. Jack thought this was strange. 

“I mean the clergyman who has charge of the church 
alongside.” 

“ Oh, yes, Mr. Toxham lives here. He is inside. Will 
you walk in ? ” 

Jack was ushered into a clergyman’s library, where a 
thin man with a worn face was sitting. Jack bowed, in- 
troduced himself, and said he had come here to see Mr. 
Matthew Simpson, “ one of the associate clergymen in St. 
James’s Church close by.” 

“ I do not think I know anybody by the name of Simp- 
son,” said the clergyman. “My name is Toxham. I 
have no associate clergyman with me in the neighboring 
church. My church is called St. Luke’s, not St. James’s. 
I don’t think there is any St. James’s Church in Buffalo.” 

Jack grasped the back of the chair and unconsciously 
sat down to steady himself. A horrible fear overwhelmed 
him. His face grew ashen in hue, and the clergyman 
jumped up in a fright, thinking something was going to 
happen. 

“ It’s all right,” said Jack weakly. “ Sit down, please. 
You have given me a shock, and I feel as I never felt 
before. There, I am better now.” 


270 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


As he wiped away the cold perspiration that had 
started out in beads on his forehead he related the facts 
as to his marriage to Mr. Toxham, who was greatly 
shocked. 

An idea occurred to him, and on looking through the 
city directory, as a sort of last chance, he found the name 
“ Matthew Simpson, issuer of marriage licenses.” 

Jack started up, filled with wild and sudden hope. He 
got the address, and dashed from the house before Mr. 
Toxham could give him a word of advice. Arrived at 
the office of Matthew Simpson, he walked in and asked 
for that gentleman. 

“ I am Matthew Simpson,” said the man he spoke to. 

Jack looked at him as if he had seven heads, feeling 
the same trembling in the knees which he had felt when 
with Mr. Toxham. “Really,” he thought, “if this goes 
on ril be a driveling idiot by nightfall.” 

“ Did you issue a marriage license on, let me see, two 
weeks ago to-morrow — on the 23d ? ” 

“ More than likely I did. Perhaps a good many on 
that day. You don’t look as if you wanted one yourself. 
Anything gone wrong ? But you can have one if you like. 
I do the biggest business in Buffalo. I sell more marriage 
licenses than any two men between here and — ” 

“ Turn up your books,” interrupted Jack savagely. He 
was beginning to wish to kill somebody. 

“ I always make a charge for a search,” said the man 
cunningly, which was not true. 

“Well, damn it, I can pay you. Look lively now, or 
the police will do it for me in five minutes, and put you 
where your frauds will be of no use to you.” 

It was Mr. Simpson’s turn to lose color now. He was 
one of the trustees of a public institution in Buffalo, and 
people should be careful how they talk too suddenly about 
police to trustees. The books were produced, and Jack 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


271 


hurriedly looked over the list of the licenses sold on the 
23d of the last month, and was surprised to find that one 
had been sold to himself. His age was entered and sworn 
to as fifty-five years, and the license was to marry Nina 
Lindon, spinster, aged twenty years. The addresses given 
were all Buffalo. 

“ There has been a great fraud done here,” said Jack 
vehemently. 

All perfectly regular, my dear sir,” said Mr. Simpson. 

I remember the circumstance well. Old party, called 
John Cresswell, came in, dressed like a preacher, and 
wanted a license for himself. ‘ All right, my old covey,’ 
says I to myself ; ‘ trust an old stager like you to pick up 
the youngest and best.’ So I perdooced the papers, which 
took about five minutes to fill up. He took the oath, I 
sealed and stamped the license, like this one here, and as 
soon as he got it he took out his purse and there was 
nothing in it. His face fell about a quarter of a yard. 

‘ My goodness,’ he says, ‘I have come out without any 
money ! ’ He then laid down the license and rushed to the 
door, and then turned round and says, quite distressed : 
‘I’ll take a cab,’ says he, ‘and drive home and get your 
money. They’re all waiting at the church for the mar- 
riage to take place, but, of course, you must be paid 
first.’” 

“ Well, I hated to see an old gent put about so, and his 
speaking about ‘taking a cab’ and coming from ‘home’ 
in such a natural, put-about sort of way kinder made me 
think he was solid, and, like a dum fool, I slings him the 
license and tells, him to call in after the ceremony. He 
thanked me, with what I should call Christian gratitude in 
his face. Yes, sir, it was Christian gratitude, there, every 
time. And — would you believe it ? — the old boozer never 
showed up since ! ” 

“ Ha ! ” said Jack, who only heard the main facts of 


2/2 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


what Simpson was saying. Did you never see this old 
man before ? ” he added. 

“ Well, that is a funny thing about it. It seemed to 
me I knew the face. That was one thing that made me 
trust him. I could not swear to it, but I have a great mind 
for faces, and I believe I have, at some time or other, sold 
the old coon a license before.” 

Jack thought this would account for the old man, while 
on the train, giving the name Matthew Simpson, when 
he had the whole scheme quickly arranged in his head. 
Still, it might be that he was in fact some profligate, ruined 
clergyman, who played these confidence games to make 
a livelihood. The license was issued in his and Nina’s 
names, and, although incorrect on its face and not paid 
for, might still, he thought, be a legal license for him to 
claim a bo7ia-fide marriage under. If the license was good 
enough, the next thing to do was to go to the police office 
and find out what he could there. “ The marriage might 
be a good one still.” 

He threw down the price of the license for Mr. Simp- 
son, and asked him to be good enough to keep the papers 
in his possession carefully, as they might be required 
afterward. He left Mr. Simpson rather mystified as to the 
interest he took in the matter, and then, having still two 
hours before train-time, he repaired to the police head- 
quarters. There he related in effect what had taken 
place to Superintendent Fox. Two or three quiet-looking 
men were lounging about, seeming to take but little inter- 
est in Jack’s story. Detectives are not easily disturbed 
by that which excites the victim who tells his unfortunate 
experience. These fellows were smoking cigars, and they 
occasionally exchanged a low sentence with each other in 
which Jack thought he heard the word Faro- Joseph.” 
What that meant he did not know ; but he described the 
gentleman of dignified aspect, whom he had known on 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


273 


the train as Rev. Matthew Simpson, and then he heard 
one of them mutter “ Faro-Joseph ” again, while they 
nodded significantly. 

One of the men, who had his boots on a desk in front 
of him, was consulting his note-book. He then said : 

On the 23d of last month Faro-Joseph got off the 
train at the Central Depot at two o’clock. On the 26th 
he left on the Michigan Southern at 10 p. m. 

It dawned upon Jack that his clerical friend was called 
Faro-Joseph ” in police circles. 

“ Why did you not warn me when you saw me in com- 
pany with this man. He got off the train with me at the 
the time you say. Surely I should have had some word 
from you ! ” 

“Well, gent, I tell you why, I was just about to ar- 
rest another man, and in the crowd I did not see that 
you were with him. Don’t remember ever seeing you be- 
fore. I might pass you twenty times and never know I had 
seen you. You’re not the kind we reaches out for. Now, 
I dare say, unless a woman is of a fine figure — tall, possi- 
bly, or the kind of figure you admire — chances are you 
don’t see her at all. That is, you could not tell after- 
ward whether you had seen her or not. Same thing here. 
You’re not the kind we hunt.” 

Jack turned to the superintendent and asked him 
whether this man, Faro-Joseph, was not really at one time 
a clergyman. The superintendent smiled pityingly. 

“ Why, he only started the sky-pilot game during the 
last ten years, and only takes it up occasionally. Though 
I believe it’s his best holt. As a Gospel-sharp he’ll beat 
anybody out of their socks. He’s immense on that lay. 
What I call just perfect. He’s all on the confidence ticket 
now and the pasteboards. Has quite given up the heavy 
business. Why, sir, you would forgive him most anything 
if you could see him handle card-board. We pulled him 
18 


2/4 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


for a ‘ vag." one night about four months ago ; and, just 
to find out how he did things, I played a little game with 
him after we let him go on promise to quit. We put the 
stakes about as low as they could be put — five-cent ante, 
and twenty-five cent limit — ^just for the experiment. Now, 
sir, you would be surprised. He cheated me from the 
word ‘ go,’ and I don’t know yet how it was done. If he 
dealt the cards he would get an all-fired hand himself, and 
if I dealt him nothing he’d bluff me right up the chimney. 
For poker he has no match, I believe. All I know about 
that game is that I lost three dollars in thirty min- 
utes.” 

“ Perhaps you have his record written down some- 
where.?” said Jack, feeling sick at heart, and yet fasci- 
nated by the account of Faro-Joseph. 

“ Perhaps we have,” said the superintendent, smiling 
toward one of the loungers near by. “ Just come in this 
way. ” 

The superintendent opened a large case like a ward- 
robe, and began flapping back a large number of thin flat 
wings that all worked on separate hinges. These wings 
were covered with photographs of criminals — a terrible 
collection of faces — and from one of them he took a very 
fair likeness of our clerical friend in another dress. Pasted 
at the back of the photograph was a folded paper con- 
taining a list in fine writing of his known convictions and 
suspected offenses for a period of over forty years. He 
had been burglar, counterfeiter, and forger, which the 
superintendent called the “ heavy business ’ that he had 
given up. Since those earlier days he had been train- 
gambler, confidence-man, and sneak-thief. 

There was nothing to be done. Faro-Joseph never 
had been a clergyman. To put the law in force was out 
of the question for several reasons. Jack got away to 
catch his train for Toronto and to think and think what 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


275 

it would be best to do about Nina, and where and how 
they could get married properly. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

Spread no wings 

For sunward flight, thou soul with unplumed vans I 
Sweet is the lower air and safe, and known 
The homely levels. 

Dear is the love, 1 know, of wife and child ; 

Pleasant the friends and pastimes of your years. 

Live — ^ye who must — such lives as live on these ; 

Make golden stairways of your weakness ; rise 
By daily sojourn with those fantasies 
To lovelier verities. 

{^Buddha's Sermon — The Light 0/ Asia.) — Arnold. 

Jack made another mistake in coming on to Toronto 
' after finding out the disastrous failure of his supposed 
marriage. If he had gone to Lockport and found Nina at 
her friend’s house, perhaps some arrangement could have 
been made for their marriage in Buffalo on the following 
day. Mr. Toxham, the clergyman on whom Jack called 
at the parsonage, had tried to get his ear for advice on 
this subject. But, as mentioned before, when Jack read 
the address of Matthew Simpson he immediately bolted 
out, without waiting to listen to the suggestions which the 
clergyman tried to make. If this idea occurred to Jack, 
there were reasons why he did not act upon it. He was 
due at the bank the next morning, and regularity at the 
bank was a cast-iron creed with him — the result of continu- 
ally subordinating his own wishes to that which the institu- 
tion expected of him. The clerk who was doing his work 
there would be leaving for his own holidays on the follow- 
ing day, and Jack felt the pressure his duty brought upon 


276 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


him. Again, how would it be possible, after finding where 
Nina was staying in Lockport, to call at the house and 
take her away from her friends almost before she had 
fairly arrived ? Geoffrey would have got over this diffi- 
culty. But he had the inventive mind which goes on in- 
venting in the presence of shock and surprise. Jack was 
not like him on land. He had this ability only on a yacht 
during a sudden call for alert intelligence. His nerve had 
not been educated to steadiness by escapades on land, nor 
had he had experience in any trouble that required much 
insight into consequences. The discovery that the woman 
for whom he existed was not his wife seemed to prostrate 
and confuse thought. He felt the need of counsel, and 
was afraid to trust his own decision. If he could only get 
home and tell Geoffrey the whole difficulty, he felt that 
matters could be mended. 

He arrived in Toronto about ten o’clock at night feel- 
ing ill and faint, having eaten nothing since a light break- 
fast thirteen hours before. He dropped in at the club and 
took a sandwich and some spirits to make him sleep. 
Then he went to his lodgings (Geoffrey was out some- 
where), rolled into bed, and slept the clock round till eight 
the next morning. 

As he gradually awoke, thoroughly refreshed, there 
was a time during which, although he seemed to himself 
to be awake, he had forgotten about his supposed marriage. 
He was single John Cresswell again, with nothing on his 
mind except to be at the bank “ on time.” So his troubles 
presented themselves gently ; first as only a sort of dream 
that he had once been married to the love of his life— to 
Nina. When he fully awoke he began to realize every- 
thing ; but not as he realized it the night before. Then, 
the case seemed almost hopeless. Now, his invigorated 
self promised success in some way. He was glad he had 
not met Geoffrey the night before. The morning confi- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


277 

dence in himself made Geoffrey seem unnecessary. Rub- 
bing his sleepy eyes, he walked through the museum a 
sitting-room and into Hampstead’s bedroom, where he fell 
upon that sleeping gentleman and rudely shook him into 
consciousness. 

Hello, Jack ! Got back?” growled Geoffrey as he 
awoke. 

“Yes. You had better get up if you want to attend 
the bank to-day.” 

“All right,” said Geoffrey, sitting up. “What sort of 
a time did you have ? Old people well ? ” 

Jack was supposed to have been in Halifax, where his 
parents lived with the other old English families there. 

“Yes, I had a pretty good time,” said Jack. “The 
old people are fine ! ” he added, freshly. “ How are things 
in the bank ? ” *• 

Geoffrey then retired to his bath-room, and an intermit- 
tent conversation about the bank and other matters went 
on for a few minutes during the pauses created by cold 
water and splashing. 

It was a relief to Jack that neither at breakfast nor 
afterward did Geoffrey ask any more questions about his 
fortnight’s holiday. Hampstead knew better. 

During the next six weeks Geoffrey was decidedly un- 
settled. “ Federal ” went up as a matter of course, and 
he sold out with advantage. He cleared five thousand 
dollars on this transaction, and had now a capital of fifteen 
thousand dollars. He was rather lucky in his venture into 
the stock market. His experience on Wall Street had 
given him a keen insight into such matters, and he studied 
probabilities until his chances of failure were reduced, 
keeping up a correspondence by telegraph and letter with 
his old Wall Street employers who, in a friendly way, shared 
with him some of their best knowledge. 

Immediately after he had sold out “ Federal ” an 


2/8 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


American railway magnate died. This man almost owned 
an American railway which was operating and leasing a 
Canadian railway. No sooner was the death known than 
the stock of the Canadian Railway took a tumble. For a 
moment public confidence in it seemed to be lost. Now 
Geoffrey had studied chances as to this line. He knew 
that it was one of the few Canadian railways that under 
fair management was able to pay a periodical dividend — a 
small one at times, perhaps, but always something. It did 
not go on for years without paying a cent like some of the 
others. He had waited for this millionaire to die in or- 
der to buy the largely depreciated stock. When the op- 
portunity arrived he bought on margin a very large quan- 
tity of it at a low figure. But the trouble was that the 
public did not agree with him and the few cool heads who 
tried to keep quiet, hold on, and wait till things reinstated 
themselves. An ordinary man’s chances in the stock 
market do not depend upon his own sagacity more than 
does guessing at next week’s weather. Fortunes are lost, 
like lives, not from the threatened danger but from panic. 
Bad rumors about the railway were afloat and the stock 
continued to go down. Geoffrey hastily sold out his other 
stocks for what he could get, and stuffed everything avail- 
able into the widening gap through which forces seemed 
to be entering to overwhelm him. 

In the meantime while Nina was at Lockport, Jack 
had gone on quietly with his work in the Victoria Bank. 
He had not given notice of his intentions to leave that 
institution, because, after his return, he had thought he 
would like to take more money than he had already saved 
to California with him. His brother had written pre- 
viously to say that he ought to bring with him at least 
three thousand dollars, to put into the business of grape- 
farming, and Jack thought if he could only hold on at 
the bank, where he was fairly well paid, he might in a 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


279 


few months complete the sum required. Already he had 
put away over twenty-five hundred dollars, and it would 
not take long to save the balance. 

Nina came back from Lockport blaming herself for 
her former unreasoning infatuation for Geoffrey. Hers 
was a nature that had of necessity to lavish its affection 
on something or somebody. If she could have given this 
affection, or part of it, to her own mother it would have 
been a valuable outlet in these later years. The con- 
fidences that ought to have existed between them would 
then have been the first links to be sundered when she 
sought Hampstead’s society. 

Unluckily Mrs. Lindon was not in every way perfect. 
While she had continued to be “ not weary in well doing,” 
as she called it, her daughter had been gradually com- 
mencing to consider how her duties and social law might 
be evaded. While Mrs. Lindon visited the Haven and 
listened to the stories of the women there which were 
always so interesting to her, and while she expended her 
time in ways that her gossip-loving nature sought, her 
daughter had been left the most defenseless person im- 
aginable. 

The fact to be remarked was, that the same impulses 
which had led Nina into wrong-doing previously were now 
becoming her greatest power for good. For those who 
claim to distinguish the promptings that come from Satan 
from those that come from Heaven, there is in nature a 
good deal of irony. Nature is wonderfully kind to the 
pagan, considering his disadvantages. When self has 
been abandoned. for an inspiring object there is no reason 
to think that the self-surrendered devoted Buddhist, or 
the self-offered victim to Moloch, experiences, any less 
than the Salvation Army captain, That deep, heart-felt, 
soul-set, almost ecstatic gladness — that sensation of conse- 
cration and confidence — that internal song which the 


28 o 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


New Testament so beautifully puts words to. It is a 
great thing for a woman to be allowed to lavish her affec- 
tion in a way permitted by society, for few have enough 
strength of character to hold up their heads when society 
frowns. 

Nina was just such a woman as many whom her 
mother liked to converse with at the Haven. They 
were poor and she was rich and well educated, but she 
w’-as neither better nor worse than the majority of them. 
Nevertheless, from a social point of view, she was on the 
right track now, apparently. From a social point of view, 
Mrs. John Cresswell with society at her feet would not 
be at all the same person as Nina Lindon disgraced. 
True, it would require subtlety and deception before she 
could feel that she had re-established herself safely, but, 
as Hampstead quoted, “ some sorts of dirt serve to clarify,’* 
and to her it seemed the only way feasible. She did not 
like painstaking subtlety any more than other people. It 
gave her intense unrest. She looked gladly forward to the 
time v/hen she would leave Toronto with Jack for Cali- 
fornia, and she longed with her whole heart for the neces- 
sity of deception to be over and done with. She did not 
know — Jack had not told her — that their supposed mar- 
riage was void, and she was following out the train of 
thought that leads toward ultimate good. She was sad- 
dened and subdued, wept bitter tears of contrition for her 
faults, and prayed with an agonized mind for forgiveness 
and strength to carry her through what lay before her. 

The change in her was due to improved conditions 
under which her nature became able to advance by 
woman’s ordinary channels toward woman’s possible per- 
fection. A great after-life might be opening before her. 
Some time, probably, her father’s wealth would be hers. 
After long years of chastening remembrances of trouble, 
after years of the outflow toward good of a heart that re- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


281 


fused to be checked in its love, and would be able from 
personal experience to understand, and thus lift up lov- 
ingly, wounded souls, and with many of the perfections of 
a ripened womanhood, we can imagine Nina as admirable 
among women, a power for good, controlling through the 
heart rather than the intellect, as generous as the sun. 

But where will these beautiful possibilities be if her 
sin is found out ? 

Since her return Jack had not told Nina the terrible 
news which awaited her. The secret on his mind made 
him uneasy in her presence. When he had called once or 
twice in the afternoon he was very silent and even de- 
pressed, but she considered that he had a good deal to 
think about, and it was also a relief to her not to be ex- 
pected to appear brilliantly happy. What he thought was 
that after he had earned the rest of the money he required 
they could get married at the first American town they 
came to on their way to California. He could not bring 
himself to tell her the truth, which would make her wretched 
in the mean time, and he did not see why the real marriage 
should not be deferred until it was more convenient for 
him to leave Canada. When Nina had spoken about go- 
ing away, he had evaded the topic, and she did not wish 
to press the point. He explained his long periods of 
absence during this time by several excuses. His secret 
weighed so heavily upon him that he dreaded lest in a 
weak moment he might tell her. It was significant of the 
change in Nina toward him that, during the time he was 
there, nothing would induce her to sacrifice the restful 
moments to anybody. She would sit beside him, talking 
Quietly and restfully, holding his hand in hers, or with her 
head upon his shoulder. Once, when he was leaving, all 
the hope she now felt welled up within her as she said 
good-by. All that was good and kind seemed to her to 
be personified in Jack, and it smote him when she put her 


282 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


arms round his neck and, with a quiet yearning toward 
good in her face, said : 

“ Good-by, Jack, dear husband ! ” 

Jack’s great heart was rent with pity and affection as 
he saw through the gathering mists that calm, wondrous 
yearning look in her face that afterward haunted him. He 
did not understand fully from what depths of black an- 
guish that look came, straining toward the light. But he 
knew that he was not her husband, and he could see that 
when she called him by this name she was uttering a word 
which to her was hallowed. 

Another week now slipped by, and Geoffrey could not 
understand why Jack had not gone to California. He 
called on Nina to ascertain how matters stood. She re- 
ceived him standing in the middle of the room. To-day 
Geoffrey closed the door behind him. It was the last time 
he ever intended to be in this house, and so he did not 
care much what the inquisitive door-opener might think. 

There was no mark of special recognition on either 
side. He walked quickly toward her, seeing, at one quick 
glance, that he was not regarded as a friend. 

Why have you and Jack not gone yet to California ? ” 
he said, without prelude. 

“I don’t know,” she answered coldly, still standing 
and eyeing him with aversion, as he also stood before her. 
“ Has not Jack given any notice of his intention to leave 
the bank ? ” 

‘‘I have not heard of any. You ought to know that 
better than I,” said Geoffrey. By the way,” he added, 
“ you might as well sit down, Nina. There is no use that 
I see in playing the tragedy queen.” His voice hardened 
her aversion to him. 

“ No,” she said, her voice deep and full with resent- 
ment. If I am always allowed to choose, I will never 
sit down in your presence again. You have come here to 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


283 


look after your own interests, and I have got to listen to 
you, to learn from your lips your devil’s cunning. You are 
forced to tell me the proper plans, and I am forced to 
listen and act upon them. Now go on and say what you 
have to say.” 

Hampstead nodded, and said simply : “ Perhaps you 
are right. I don’t know that it is worth your while to take 
so much trouble, but I respect the feeling which prompts 
it.” 

Nina looked angry. 

Don’t think I say this unkindly. You, or rather your 
conditions, have changed, and I merely wish to acknowl- 
edge the improvement. We will speak very simply to each 
other to-day. Now, about California ; it appears to me 
that Jack does not intend to go there for a good while if 
allowed to do as he likes. You must go at once. He very 
likely is wishing to make more money before he leaves, 
but this won’t do. He must go at once.” 

“ I think,” said Nina, that there need be no further 
reason for your seeing me again after this interview. You 
have always, lately, been Jack’s confidant. Send him to 
me this evening, and I will tell him to consult with you. 
After that, you can arrange with him everything necessary 
about our departure. He will need advice, perhaps, in 
many ways, and then he can (here Nina’s lip curled) bene- 
fit by your wisdom.” 

“ I would not sneer too much at the wisdom if I were 
you. My devil’s cunning, as you are pleased to call it, has 
put you on the right track, whatever its faults may be. It 
has stood us both in good stead this time, and, if I did 
force you to marry Jack, you should not blame me for 
that now, and I do not think you do.” 

He turned to move toward the door. He did not con- 
sider that he had any right to say good-by, or anything 
else beyond what was absolutely necessary. But his refer- 


284 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


ence to Jack, in a way that seemed to speak of his worth, 
aroused Nina; and this, together with the thought that she 
would never again see this man who had treated her 
whole existence as a plaything, induced her to speak again 
to him. 

“ Stop,” she said. ‘‘ I do indeed owe you something. 
You forced me to marry Jack, out of your own selfish- 
ness, of course, but still I must thank you for it. To 
m.y last hour I will thank you for that. Yes, I will even 
thank you for more — for the careful way you have 
shown me my way from out of my troubles. I think I am 
nearly done with anguish now. A little more will come, 
no doubt, and after that, please God, whatever troubles I 
endure will not be shameful. And now something tells me, 
Geoffrey, that I shall never see you again. I can not let 
you go without saying that I forgive you all. Some time, 
perhaps, you will be glad I said so. You have been by 
turns cunning, selfish, wise, and loving to me. You have 
also seemed — I don’t know that you were^ but you have 
seemed — cruel to me ; but I do not think, now that I look 
back upon everything more calmly, that you have been 
unjust. No ; a woman should bear her part of the con- 
sequences of her own deeds. I am glad that Margaret’s 
happiness is still possible and that I did not drag anybody 
down with me. The more I think of everything the less 
I blame you. You will think I am getting wise to look at 
it in this way, but I never could look at it like this until 
now.” 

Nina was speaking in a way that surprised Geoffrey. 
Sorrow had altered her; dangers and changes were en- 
compassing her. Though all love for him was dead, the 
man whom she had once worshiped stood before her for 
the last time. He, who had caused her more happiness 
and distress than any other person ever could again, stood 
in silence taking his leave of her — forever. Urged by 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


285 

hope, besieged by doubts and dangers, driven by necessi- 
ties, her mind had acquired an abnormal activity, and she 
seemed all at once to be able to realize what it was to part 
from him for all eternity and to become conscious while 
she stood there of a power to rise in intelligence above 
everything surrounding her — above all the clogging con- 
ditions of our existence — and to judge calmly, even pity- 
ingly, of both herself and Geoffrey and of all the agonies 
and joys that now seemed to have been so small and un- 
necessary. As she spoke the whole of her life seemed 
spread out before her. She recollected, or seemed to recol- 
lect, all the events of her life, and she remained a moment 
gazing before her in a way that made her look almost 
unreal. 

‘‘ I can see,’ she said slowly, in a calm, distinct voice, 
‘‘everything that has happened in my life ; but all the rest 
is all a blank to me.” 

Geoffrey noticed that, with her clearness of vision into 
the past, she evidently expected also to see something of 
the future and was startled and surprised at seeing noth- 
ing. She continued looking before her, as if unconscious 
of his presence, until she turned to him shuddering, 

“Good-by, Geoffrey. I feel that something is going 
to happen in some way, either to you or to me ; I don’t 
know how. I see things to-day strangely, and there are 
other things I want to see and can not.” 

She looked at him with a look such as he had never 
seen in any one. 

“ You will never see me again, Geoffrey. I am cer- 
tain of that. I pray that God may be as good to you as I 
have been.” 

Geoffrey grew pale. Something convinced him that 
she spoke the truth and that he never would see her again. 
There was something in her appearance and in her words 
that made him shudder. A rarefied beauty had spread 


286 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


over her ; she seemed to be merely an intelligence, speak- 
ing from the purity of some other realm. It seemed as if 
it were no human prompting that urged her to the utter- 
ance of forebodings, and that her last words were as sweet 
as they were terrible. 

He tried to look at her kindly, to cheer her, but he saw 
that, for the moment, the emotions of our ordinary life 
were totally apart from her and that he had become noth- 
ing to her but a combination of recollections. 

He raised her hand to his lips, took a long look at her, 
and went his way, leaving her standing in the middle of 
the room calmly watching his retreat. 

As Hampstead went back to the club he felt unstrung. 
He went in and drank several glasses of brandy to brace 
himself. He had been drinking a great deal during this 
excitement over his investments. At ordinary times he did 
not care enough about liquor to try to make a pastime of 
drinking. Now, there was a fever in his blood that seemed 
to demand a still greater fever. He did not get drunk, 
because his individuality seemed to assert itself over and 
above all he consumed. To-day, to add to the depression 
he felt about his prospects (for ruin was staring him in the 
face), the strange words of Nina — full of presentiment — 
her uncanny, prophetess-like eyes, and the conviction that 
he had seen her for the last time — all weighed upon him. 
Her last words to him haunted him, and he drank heavily 
all the evening. 

He told Jack he had called to see Nina in the after- 
noon, and that she had expressed a wish to see him in the 
evening. 

About eight o’clock Jack made his appearance at Moss- 
bank. Mrs. Lindon had dragged her unwilling husband 
off to a dinner somewhere, so that the young people were 
not in anticipation of interruption. 

Nina had got over the strange phase into which she 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


287 


had passed while saying good-by to Geoffrey during the 
afternoon, and was doing her best to appear natural and 
pleasant. After some conversation, she inquired whether 
he had given the bank notice of his intention to leave. 
When he said he had not, she let him know that she must 
leave Toronto at once, and the first thing he did was to 
ejaculate : O my God, and we not married ! ” 

Nina caught the words, and sprang toward him from 
the chair in which she had been sitting. 

They were a pitiable pair, with faces like ashes, con- 
fronting each other. 

“What did you say then. Jack? Tell me all — tell me 
quick, or you will kill me ! ” 

“Yes, it’s true,” groaned Jack. “I found out when I 
went back to Buffalo that Simpson was only a blackleg 
criminal and no clergyman. We are no more married than 
we ever were.” 

As Jack said this he had his head down ; it was bowed 
with the misery he felt. He dreaded to look at Nina. If 
he had looked, he would have seen her lips grow almost 
blue and her eyes lose their sight. The next moment, be- 
fore he could catch her, she sank on the floor in shapeless, 
inert confusion. 

Jack did not wish to call for help. He seized a large 
ornamental fan of peacock’s feathers and fanned her vig- 
orously. 

She soon came to. But still lay for some time before 
she had strength to rise. At last he assisted her to a sofa, 
where she reclined wearily until able to go on with the 
conversation. 

“ Jack,” she said, after a while, “ if I don’t get away 
from here in three days I will go mad. Think, now ! I 
can not help you much in the arrangements to get away. 
You must arrange everything yourself. Just let me know 
when to go, and I will look after myself and will meet you 


288 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


somewhere — anywhere you propose. But I can not — I 
don’t feel able to assist you more than that. Stop ! an 
idea strikes me ! You can not arrange everything your- 
self. There are always things that are apt to be forgotten. 
You must get somebody to help you think out things. 
When we go away I feel that it will be forever — at least, I 
felt so this afternoon. You will have to arrange every- 
thing, so that there need be no correspondence with To- 
ronto any more.” 

^‘Yes,” said Jack, ‘‘I think your advice is good. I 
have always relied on Hampstead. If you did not mind 
my telling him the whole story, Nina, I think his assist- 
ance would be invaluable.” 

“ There is nothing that I dread his knowing,” said 
Nina, as she buried her face in the cushions. “ He is a 
man of the world, and will know I am innocent about our 
intended marriage. I thoroughly believe in his power, 
not only to help you to arrange everything, but also to 
take the secret with him to his grave.” 

“ I am glad to hear you say so,” said Jack. I have 
always thought dear old Geoffrey, in spite of a good many 
things I would like to see changed, to be the finest all- 
round man I ever knew.” 

“Yes. Now go. Jack! I am too ill to talk a mo- 
ment more. Simply tell me when and how I am to go 
and I will go. As for arranging anything more, my mind 
refuses to do it. Give me your arm to the foot of the 
stairs ! So. Good-night ! ” 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


289 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

Mad, call I it ; for to define true madness, 

What is ’t, but to be nothing else but mad ? 

But let that go. 

Hamlet, 

After leaving Nina, Jack went to the club, where he 
found Geoffrey playing pool with half a dozen others, 
whose demeanor well indicated the number of times the 
lamp had been rubbed for the genius with the tray to 
appear. Geoffrey seemed to be in good-humor, but he 
gave Jack the idea of playing against time. He strode 
around the table rapidly as he took his shots, as if not 
caring whether he won or lost. The only effect the 
liquor seemed to have upon him was to make him grow 
fierce. Every movement of his long frame was made with 
a quick nervous energy, inspiriting enough to watch, but 
giving an impression of complete unrest. He was playing 
to stave off waking nightmares. Thoughts of his prob- 
able ruin on the following day came to him from time to 
time — like a vision of a death’s head. The others with 
him noticed nothing different in him, but Jack, who was 
quietly smoking on one of the high seats near by, saw 
that he was in a more reckless mood than he had ever 
seen him before. He could not help smiling as his friend 
strode around the table in his shirt-sleeves, playing with a 
force that was almost ferocity and a haste apparently 
reckless but deadly in the precision that sense of power, 
skill, and alcohol gave him. After a while, in a pause, 
he spoke to Geoffrey, who at once divined that more trou- 
ble of some kind awaited him. 

When they arrived at their chambers. Jack told him 
briefly of the journey with Nina for the purpose of getting 
married in Buffalo, and of what Nina had just said. 

19 


290 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


Geoffrey nodded ; he was waiting for the something 
new that would affect himself— 'the something he was not 
prepared for. 

“ Is that all ? ” he asked sharply. 

“ No. That is not all,” answered Jack gloomily. 

“ Go on, then.” 

“I don’t feel as if I could go on,” said Jack, not 
noticing the rough tone in which he was commanded to 
proceed. “ But I suppose I must. The fact i§, Geoffrey, 
I found out afterward that I was not married at all to 
her, and I never let her know until to-night.” 

“ Is she dead, then ? ” 

Geoffrey looked at him with his brow lowered, his 
eyes glittering. He felt like striking Jack. 

“ Gracious heavens, no ! Why should she die ? ” cried 
Jack, startled from his gloom. 

“ It’s enough to kill her,” said Geoffrey. His con- 
tempt for Jack assisted the rage he felt against him. He 
had been drinking steadily all day, and now could hardly 
restrain the violent fury that seethed in him. “ Go on, 
you infernal ass ! Dribble it out. Go on.” 

“ I see you feel for her, Geoffrey. I am the biggest 
fool that ever was allowed to live.” 

Then, with his face averted, he told Geoffrey the 
whole story of the mistake in Buffalo. His listener 
watched him, with lips muttering, while sometimes his 
teeth seemed to be bared and gleaming. 

In this story, Geoffrey at first seemed to see a new 
danger to himself and his future prospects. Then it oc- 
curred to him that the new information did not much 
affect his own position. Two things seemed certain. 
One was, that Joseph Lindon would spare no expense to 
find out where Jack and Nina had gone and to be fully 
informed of everything that happened. Secondly, that 
Nina could never be able to show any legal marriage 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


291 


prior to the one now intended. This meant that Nina 
and Jack could not return to Toronto. A vague idea 
went through Geoffrey's head at this time. 

When Jack had finished his story Geoffrey was calm 
in appearance. But his eyes were half closed, which 
gave him a cunning look. 

Then he talked with Jack, so as to impress upon his 
mind the fact that it would be impossible for them ever 
to visit Canada again. 

“Yes,” said Jack. “Unless you come out to visit us 
you will never see us again. I could never make it right 
with the Toronto people. I will never again be able to 
return to Toronto ; that’s clear.” 

When he proposed to make arrangements as to the 
best ways and means of leaving Toronto, Geoffrey said he 
must have time to think over everything. It was late. 
It would be better to sleep, if possible, and arrange things 
further to-morrow. They parted for the night, having 
settled that Jack was to draw out his money at once. 

On the next morning Geoffrey ascertained that he was 
ruined. The stock that he held in the Canadian rail- 
way had gone down beyond redemption as far as he was 
concerned. He had mortgaged everything he possessed, 
raised money on indorsed notes, raised it in every shape 
and way within his means, but he had been unable to tide 
over the depression. A further call had been made for 
margins, and he had not another cent to fill the gap with, 
and all his stock passed to other hands. He drank stead- 
ily all day and even carried a flask with him into the 
office, which he soon emptied. Hampstead was not by 
any means the same man now that he was three weeks 
previously. He looked sufficiently like his right self to 
escape a betrayal, but the liquor and the thought of his 
losses raged within him, and all the time an idea was in- 
sinuating itself into his frenzied brain. He had gone so 


292 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


far as carefully to consider many schemes to avert his 
ruin which he would not have countenanced before. His 
weakened judgment now placed Jack before him as one 
who conspired against his peace. He cunningly concealed 
it, but to him the mere sight of Jack was like a red flag 
to a bull. Just when all his plans were demolished, all his 
hopes gone, his entire ruin an accomplished fact, this fool 
came in to add fuel to the fire that burned him. In this 
way he regarded his old friend. 

While in this state and while at his work in the bank 
the next morning he said to Jack, who occupied the 
next stall to him, that he had hit upon the best way for 
him and Nina to depart. It would be better for Jack to 
go away without giving any notice to the bank. The 
notice would be of no use if he did so, because, if he must 
go away the next morning, the notice would only raise in- 
quiry. He told Jack to slip out and go down to the 
docks and find if there would be any sailing vessels leaving 
for American ports the next day. Jack could depart on 
a schooner ; Nina could make some excuse at home and 
follow him by steamer. 

Jack liked this proposal. He would have one more 
sail on old Ontario before he left it forever. He skipped 
out of the side door, and soon found a vessel at Yonge 
Street wharf that would finish taking in its cargo of fire- 
bricks and start for Oswego at noon the following day. 
He tried to arrange with the mate to go as a passenger, 
but the captain was going to take his wife with him on 
this trip, so Jack, if he wanted to go, would be obliged 
to sleep in the forecastle. He did not mind this much, 
and engaged to go “before the mast.” 

In the afternoon he told Nina about his intentions, 
and explained that she could take the steamer to Oswego 
on the day after he left, so that she would probably arrive 
there about the same time. He had drawn all his money out 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


293 


of the bank and was now ready to go. Nina said she could 
arrange about her own departure, and after they had made 
a few other plans as to her course in case she got to Oswego 
first, Jack kissed her and tried to cheer her from the de- 
pression in which she had sunk, and then he departed. 

All that day Geoffrey grew more moody and further 
from his right self. To drown the recollections of his ruin 
and his other worries, he went on drinking steadily. The 
thought came to him again and again that his marriage 
with Margaret was now almost impossible. He knew that, 
as a married man, he could never live on his bank salary 
alone, and the capital to speculate with was entirely gone. 
What made him still more frenzied was the fact that he 
knew that this stock he had bought was bound to re-estab- 
lish itself in a very short time. But, for the moment, every 
person else had gone mad. He alone was sane. Public 
lunacy about this stock had robbed him of his fifteen 
thousand dollars. He drank still harder when he thought 
this, and although he did not get drunk, he got what can 
be described vaguely as “ queer,” and the next stage of his 
queerness was that he became convinced that the public 
had in a manner robbed him, and that society owed him 
something. When a man’s brain is in this state, he is in a 
dangerous condition. 

Jack wished heartily that they should dine together, as 
this was his last evening in Toronto, but Geoffrey avoided 
doing so. He hated the sight of Jack, but he carefully 
concealed the aversion which he felt. He made an excuse 
and absented himself until nine or ten o’clock, and during 
this time he wandered about the city and continued drink- 
ing. He had not seen Margaret for over two weeks. Ev- 
erything had been going wrong with him. Besides his own 
losses, he would be heavily in debt to the men who had 
“ backed ” his paper and who would have to pay for him. 

Jack found him in their chambers when he returned 


294 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


for his last night at the old rooms, and there they sat and 
talked things over. Geoffrey tried to brace himself up for 
the conversation with a bottle of brandy which he had just 
uncorked, but it was quite impossible for him to pretend to 
be as cheerful as he wished. 

Jack thought he was depressed, and said : 

“ I am sorry to see you in such bad spirits to-night, 
Geoffrey.” 

“ Well, it’s a bad business,” said Hampstead, senten- 
tiously, looking moodily at the floor As this might mean 
anything. Jack thought that Geoffrey was taking his de- 
parture to heart. He had every right to think that Hamp- 
stead would miss him. 

It was now getting late, and Jack arose and laid his 
hand on Geoffrey’s shoulder : “ Don’t be cut up, old 
man,” he said ; “ I have been a fool, but I am glad that I 
know it and am able to make things as right as they can 
be made. I know you feel for Nina and me, but you will 
get some other fellow to room with you and — ” 

During the conversation Hampstead had drunk a good 
deal of the brandy. The kind words that Jack was speak- 
ing filled him with a fury which lunatic cunning could 
scarcely conceal. The idea in his mind had been settling 
itself into a resolve, and at this moment it did finally settle 
itself. He shook Jack’s hand off his shoulder as he arose, 
glared at him for an instant, and then turned off to his 
bedroom. “ Good night,” he said over his shoulder. 
“It’s late. I’m off.” Then he entered his bedroom, shut 
the door, and bolted it. 

As he went. Jack looked at his retreating form with 
tears standing in his eyes. 

“ I never,” he said, “ saw Geoffrey show any emotion 
before. I never felt quite sure whether he cared much 
about me until now. And now I know that he does. I 
hate to see him so cut up about it ; but it is comforting 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


295 

to think, on going away, that he really liked me all this 
time.” 

Jack was a clean-souled fellow. He was one of those 
who, no matter how uproarious or slangy they are, always 
give the idea that they are gentlemen. With this nature 
a certain softness of heart must go. He stood watching 
the door through which Geoffrey had passed, and he 
thought drearily that never again would they have such 
good times together, and that most likely they would never 
meet again. He thought of Geoffrey’s winning ways, of 
his prowess, of his strength, his stature, his handsome face, 
and his devil-may-care manner. He thought of their com- 
panionship, the incidents, and even dangers they had had 
together. He thought of the way Geoffrey had done his 
work that night on the yacht when returning from Char- 
lotte. He stood thinking of all these things with an aching 
heart. As he turned away sadly, his heart full of grief at 
parting, he burst out with “ Darned if I don’t love that 
man,” and he closed his door quickly, as if to shut out the 
world from witnessing a weakness. 

On the inner side of Geoffrey’s bedroom door there 
was something else going on, which represented a very 
different train of thought. 

Geoffrey, after bolting his door, went to his dressing- 
case and took from it a pair of scissors and a threaded 
needle. Then he took an old waistcoat and cut the lining 
out of it. Then he took a second old waistcoat and sewed 
the pieces of lining against the inside of it, and also ran 
stitches down the middle of each piece after it was sewed 
on. Thus he had a waistcoat with four long pockets on 
the inside — two on each side of it, all open at the top. 

When this was done he rolled into bed, where Nature 
hastened to restore herself. 

Before breakfast in the morning. Jack hailed a cab and 
took his two valises to the Yacht Club beside the water’s 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


296 

edge, and left them in his locked cupboard there. He 
only intended to take this amount of luggage with him. 
The rest of his things could come on when Geoffrey 
packed up and forwarded his share of their joint museum 
and library. Geoffrey did not turn up at breakfast. He 
breakfasted on a cup of strong coffee and brandy at a 
restaurant and went to the bank early. 

Mr. St. George Le Mesurier Hector Northcote, com- 
monly called “ Sappy ” in the bank, was a younger son of 
a long-drawn-out race.* He had been sent out to make 
his fortune in the colonies, and he had progressed so far 
toward affluence that, in eight years of “ beastly servitude, 
you know,” he had attained the proud position of discount 
clerk at the Victoria Bank, and it did not seem probable 
that his abilities would be ever recognized to any further 
extent. The great scope of his intelligence was shown in 
the variety of wearing apparel he was able to choose, all 
by himself, and he was the showman, the dude, the in- 
croyable of the Victoria Bank. When he met a man for 
the first time he weighed him according to the merits of 
the garments he wore. He met Geoffrey as he came into 
the bank this morning. 

“ My deah fellah,” he said, “ where did you get that 
dreadful waistcoat ? ” 

“None of your business, Sappy? You used to wear 
one yourself when they were in fashion. I remember your 
rushing off to get one from the same piece when you first 
saw this one.” 

Mr. St. George Le Mesurier Hector Northcote had a 
weak child’s voice, which he cultivated because it sepa- 
rated him from the common herd — most effectually. It 
made all ordinary people wish to kick him every time he 
opened his mouth. He liked to be thought to have ideas 
about art, and he talked sweetly about the furniture of 
“ ma raothah ” (my mother.) 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


297 


Geoffrey walked past this specimen with but little cere- 
mony. The brandy and coffee and another brandy with- 
out coffee had succeeded in putting him into just the same 
state in which he had gone to bed on the previous night. 
He could talk to any person and could do his work, but 
fumes of alcohol and abandonment of recklessness had for 
a time driven out all the morality he ever possessed ; and 
where some ideas of justice had generally reigned there 
flourished, in the fumes of the liquor which he had drunk, 
noxious weedy outgrowths of a debased intelligence un- 
checked by the self-respect of civilization. To-day, he 
was, to himself, the victim of a public that had robbed 
him. Society owed him a debt. 

They all went to work in the usual way. About a 
quarter-past eleven o’clock Jack put his head to Geoffrey’s 
wicket and they whispered together : 

Jack said, “ Time for me to be off ” 

“ Yes, just leave everything as if you were coming 
back. If you put away anything, or close the ledger, 
they may ask where you are before you get fairly off. By 
the way, how are you carrying your money ? ” 

‘ By Jove! I forgot that,” said Jack, “or I might 
have made the package smaller by exchanging for larger 
bills. It makes a terrible ‘wollage ’ in my pocket.” 

Geoffrey stepped back a. moment and picked two Amer- 
ican bills for one-thousand dollars each from a package of 
fifty of them lying beside him. 

“Here,” he said. “Take these two and pin them 
in the watch-pocket of your waistcoat. Don’t give me 
back your money here. Just run up to our chambers and 
leave your two thousand under my bed-clothes. I don’t 
want any one to see you paying me the money here, or 
they will think I connived at your going. I can get it 
during the afternoon and make my cash all right.” 

Jack did not quite see the necessity of this, but he 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


298 

had not time to think it out, and even if he had, he would 
have done what Geoffrey told him. 

“ All right, " he said, “ thank you. That will make 
two ‘ one-thousands ' and seven ‘ one hundreds,’ and the 
rest small, for immediate use.” 

“Very well. Go into the passage, now, and wait at 
the side door. I will come out and say good-by to you.” 

Jack took his hat and sauntered out into the passage. 

In a minute Geoffrey, with his hands in his pockets, 
strolled to the side door. 

“Good-by, Jack,” he said hastily. “When your 
schooner sails past the foot of Bay Street here, just get up 
on the counter and wave your handkerchief so that I may 
see the last of you.” 

“ All right, dear old man. I’ll not forget to take my 
last look at the old Vic., and to do as you say. I must 
run now, and leave the two thousand in your bed, and 
then get on board. Good-by. God bless you ! ” 

Geoffrey sauntered back to his stall and took a drain 
at a flask of brandy to keep off the chill he felt for a mo- 
ment, and to brace himself up generally. 

Jack hurried off to the chambers, counted out the two 
thousand dollars which he had wished to get rid of, and after 
taking a last look at the old rooms, he hurried to the Yacht 
Club. Here he put the valises into his own skiff after 
changing his good clothes for the old sailing clothes already 
described. Then, under an old soft-felt hat with holes 
in the top, he rowed down to the schooner, threw his va- 
lises on board, and climbed over the side. He let his skiff 
go adrift. He had no further use for it. There were 
some stone-hookers at the neighboring dock. He called 
to the men on one of them and said, “ There’s a boat for 
you ! ” Then he dropped down the forecastle ladder with 
his luggage. 

His arrival on board was none too early, for the covers 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


299 


were off the sails and the tug was coming alongside to 
drag the vessel away from the wharf, and start her on her 
way with the east wind blowing to take her out of the bay. 

The tug was towing her toward the west channel as 
they passed the different streets in front of the city. At 
Bay Street, Jack left off helping to make canvas for a min- 
ute, and, running to the counter, sprang up on the bul- 
warks and waved his handkerchief to somebody who, he 
knew, was watching through the windows of the Victoria 
Bank. 

There was nothing to detain the schooner now. The 
wind was from the east, and consequently dead ahead 
for the trip, but it was a good fresh working breeze, 
and Geoffrey, when he saw how things looked on the 
schooner, knew that it had fairly started on its passage 
to Oswego. 

He glanced around him to make assurance doubly sure, 
and then he divided the pile of forty-eight (formerly fifty) 
one-thousand-dollar bills into four thin packages. These 
he slipped hurriedly into the four long pockets which he 
had made in the waistcoat the previous night. He then 
buttoned up the waistcoat, and from the even distribution 
of the bills upon his person it was impossible to see any 
indication of their presence. 

When this was done and he had surveyed himself care- 
fully, he took another pull at the flask on general principles 
and proceeded to take further steps. He might as well 
have left the liquor alone, because his nerve, once he com- 
menced operations, was like iron. 

He banged about some drawers, as if he were looking 
for something, and then called out : 

“ Jack?” 

No answer. 

“ Jack ? ” 

Still no answer. 


300 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


The ledger-keeper from A to M, who occupied the 
stall beyond Jack’s, then growled out : 

“ What’s the matter with you ? ” 

“Where’s Jack ?” 

“ I don’t know. He asked me to look after his ledger 
for a moment, and then went out. He has been out for 
over an hour, and if the beggar thinks I’m going to be 
skipping round to look up his confounded ledger all day 
he’s mistaken. I’ll give him a piece of my mind when he 
comes in.” 

“ A to M ” went on growling and sputtering, like a leaky 
shower-bath, 

“ That’s all very well,” said Geoffrey ; “ but you fellows 
are playing a trick on me, and I don’t scare worth a cent.” 

Everybody could hear this conversation. Geoffrey 
then stepped on a stool and leaned over the partition, 
smiling, and seized the hard-working receiving-teller by 
the hair. 

“ Come, you beggar, I tell you I don’t scare. Just 
hand over the money. Really, it’s a very poor kind of a 
joke.” 

“ What’s a poor kind of a joke ? Seizing me by the 
hair ? ” 

Geoffrey looked at him smilingly, as if he did not be- 
lieve him and still thought there had been a plan to ab- 
stract the money and frighten him. 

“ Well, I don’t care much personally, but that packet 
of fifty thousand is gone, and if any fellow is playing the 
fool he had better bring it back. 

Several of the clerks now came round to his wicket. 
This sort of talk sounds very unpleasant in a bank. 

“ Where did you leave the bills ? ” they asked. 

“ Right here,” said Geoffrey, laying his hand on a lit- 
tle desk close beside the wicket, opening into the box in 
which Jack had worked. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


301 

‘‘Well, you had better report the thing at once,” said 
several, who were looking on with long faces. 

“I shall, right straight,” said Geoffrey energetically. 
His face bore an admirable expression of consternation, 
checked by the sang froid of an innocent bank-clerk. He 
strode off into the manager’s room. 

“ Excuse me for interrupting you, sir. I thought it was 
a hoax at first, but it looks very much as if fifty thousand 
dollars had been taken from my box.” 

“What, stolen!” 

“ Looks like it — very. If you would kindly step this 
way, sir, I will explain what I know about it.” 

Geoffrey then showed the manager where the bills had 
been laid, and did not profess to be able to tell anything 
more. 

“ Mr. Northcote, ring up the chief of police, and tell 
me when he is there,” said the manager. “ Where is Mr. 
Cresswell ? ” 

No ansv/er. 

“ Does anybody know where Mr. Cresswell is .? ” 

Ledger-keeper from A to M then said that Mr. Cress- 
well went out over an hour ago, and had asked him to 
look after his ledger for five minutes. Mr. Cresswell had 
not returned. 

The manager walked into Jack’s box and looked 
around him. Everything was lying about as if he had 
just stopped working, and this, to the m.anager’s mind, 
seemed to give the thing a black look. It seemed as if 
Jack, if he had made off with the money, had left things 
in this way as a blind. 

The telephone was ready now, and the manager re- 
quested the chief of police to send a couple of his best 
detectives at once. Only one was available at first. This 
man. Detective Dearborn, appeared in five minutes, and 
w'as made acquainted with all the known circumstances. 


302 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


When this was done, fully two hours had elapsed since 
Jack’s departure, and still he had not turned up. 

Detective Dearborn was a man with large, usually 
mild, brown eyes. There was nothing in the upper part of 
his face to be remarked except general immobilityof coun- 
tenance. The lower part of his face, however, was sug- 
gestive. His lower jaw protruded beyond the upper. 
Whether this means anything in the human being may be 
doubted, but one involuntarily got the idea that if this man 
once “ took hold,” nothing short of red-hot irons would 
burn him off. 

He took a careful, mild survey of the premises, lis- 
tened to everything that was said, remarked that the pack- 
age could not have been taken from the public passage- 
way if left in the place indicated, looked over Jack’s aban- 
doned stall, asked a few questions from the manager, and, 
like a sensible man, came to the conclusion that Jack had 
taken the money. 

He walked into the manager’s room and asked him 
several questions about Jack’s habits and his usual pur- 
suits. Geoffrey was called in to assist at this. Yes, he 
could take the detective to Jack’s room. Jack had no habits 
that cost much money. “ Had he been speculating at all ? ” 
Geoffrey thought not, although some time ago Mr. Cress- 
well had said that he was “in a little spec.,” and hoped to 
make something. Did not know what the “ spec.” was. 

“ May I ask,” said Dearborn, “ when you last spoke to 
Mr. Cresswell ? ” 

“We spoke to each other for a minute just before he 
went out. He asked me if I was going to the Dusenalls’ 
‘ shine ’ to-night. I said I was. Then he spoke about 
several young ladies of our acquaintance, and other things 
which had no reference to this matter.” 

“Was the lost money in the place you say at that 
time ? ” 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


303 

^‘Yes. I remember having my hand on the packet 
while I spoke to him.” 

“ May I ask if you at any time during the morning left 
your stall ? ” 

“Yes, I did, once. I went out as far as the side door 
for an instant shortly after Mr. Cresswell went out.” 

“ What for.?” 

“Well,” said Geoffrey, smiling, “I was thinking of 
boating this afternoon, and I wanted to see how the sky 
promised for the afternoon.” 

The mild eyes looked at Geoffrey with uncomfortable 
mildness at this answer. It might be all right, but Dear- 
born thought that this was the first suspicious sound which 
he had heard. 

“ My young gentleman, I’ll keep my eye on you,” he 
thought. “ That reply did not sound quite right, and you 
seem a trifle too unconcerned.” 

Another detective arrived now, and he was detailed to 
inform the others and to watch the railway stations and 
steamboats. Immediately afterward, descriptions of Jack 
flew all over Canada to the many different points of 
exit from the country. Had he tried to leave Canada by 
sail or steamboat he would have been arrested to a cer- 
tainty. Geoffrey laughed in his sleeve as he thought of 
the way he had sent Jack off in a schooner — a way that 
few people would dream of taking, and yet, perhaps, the 
safest way of all, as schooners could not, in the ordinary 
course of things, be watched by the detectives. But if 
the news got beyond police circles that Jack had ab- 
sconded with money, or if it should be discovered in 
any way that he had gone on the schooner to Oswego 
— if this were published — Joseph Lindon might be- 
come alarmed, and prevent his daughter from going to 
Oswego also. Even the news of Jack’s departure for 
parts unknown might make him suspicious. With this 


304 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


in view he immediately said to the manager and the de- 
tective : 

“ I would like to make a suggestion, if there be no ob- 
jection.” 

“ Certainly, Mr. Hampstead. We will be glad to lis- 
ten to what you have to say.” 

“ Of course, I can not think that Mr. Cresswell took 
the money,” said Geoffrey. “ But I think if complete 
secrecy were ordered, both in the bank and elsewhere, 
while every endeavor was being made at discovery, the 
detectives would have a better chance of success, on 
whatever theory they may work. Possibly the money may 
be recovered before many hours are over, and in that case 
the bank might wish to hush the matter up quietly. 
Prematurely advertising a thing like this often does harm ; 
and there can be no question about the interests of the 
bank in the matter.” 

“ I will act upon that suggestion at once,” said the 
manager. “ In the mean time, you will go, please, with the 
detective and admit him to Mr. Cresswell’s rooms, and 
see what is to be seen there. I will give the strictest 
orders that nothing of this is to be told outside by the 
officials or police.” 

Orders were delivered to all the detectives to give no 
items to newspaper reporters, and the chance of Nina’s 
getting away on the following morning seemed secured. 
Geoffrey laughed to himself as he thought he had crushed 
the last adder that could appear to strike him. 

He let Mr. Dearborn into Jack’s room. Everything 
was in confusion. Bureau drawers were lying open, and 
Jack’s valises were gone. Dearborn saw at a glance that 
Cresswell had fled, and he lost no time, but turned on 
his heel immediately, thanked Hampstead, and rattled 
down-stairs. Geoffrey first ascertained that he was really 
gone, and then went back, took out the two thousand dol- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


305 


lars that Jack had put under his bed-clothes, and, hastily- 
taking the forty-eight stolen bills from the interior of his 
waistcoat, he stuffed the whole amount into an old Well- 
ington boot that was hanging on a nail in a closet. Out 
of Jack’s two thousand he put several bills in his pocket 
to pay for his evening’s amusements. He then returned to 
the bank. It will be seen that his object in not taking 
this two thousand from Jack at the bank was that he 
could not safely conceal such a large package on his per- 
son, and he could not put it with his cash, because, in 
case his cash was examined, it would be found to contain 
two thousand dollars too much, which would cause in- 
quiry. 

The manager while brooding over the event, and ask- 
ing questions, soon found out that the missing bills had 
been all in one deposit. The receiving teller had taken them 
in the day before. The item was looked into and it was 
noted that this was a deposit of the Montreal Telegraph 
Company. On inquiry it was found to be a balance due 
from the Western Union Telegraph Company in the States 
for exchanges. The Montreal Telegraph Company had 
received the money from New York by express, and to 
guard against loss the Western Union had taken the pre- 
caution to write by mail to the company at Toronto giv- 
ing the number of each bill in full, and saying that all 
the bills were those of the United States National Bank at 
New York. In two hours, therefore. Dearborn was supplied 
with the numbers of all the bills. Geoffrey was startled at 
this turn of events. But he thought it did not matter 
much. He could slip over to the States in a few months 
and get rid of the whole of the money in different places. 

While all this internal commotion was going on at the 
Victoria Bank, Nina was paying a little visit to her fa- 
ther’s office. She alighted from an equipage every part 
of which, including coachman, footman, horses, and liveries, 
20 


3o6 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


had been imported from England. The coachman and 
footman did not wear their hats on one side or cross their 
legs and talk affably to each other as they seem to do in 
the American cities. Joseph Lindon was, in effect, per- 
fectly right when he said they were the “real thing — 
“ first chop.” 

Nina swept through the outer office, looking more 
charming than ever. After she had passed in, one of the 
clerks, called Moses, indulged in the vulgar pantomime 
peculiar to clerks of low degree. He placed both hands 
on his heart, gasped, and rolled back against the wall to 
indicate that he was irretrievably smashed by her appear- 
ance. 

Her father received her gladly. 

“ Ah ! ” he said, “ you have condescended to pay me a 
visit, my fine lady ! It’s money you’re after. I can see it 
in your eye. Now, how much, my dear, will this little 
visit cost me, I wonder ? Just name your figure, my dear, 
and strike it rather high.” Mr. Lindon was in a remark- 
ably good humor. 

“ No, father, I did not come altogether for money. I 
came to know if I could go over to Oswego for a week. 
Louisa Dallas, who stayed with us last winter, wants me 
to go over.” 

“ Certainly, my dear, you can do anything you please 
— in reason. I thought the Dallases lived in Rochester?” 

“ So they did ; but they have moved. Well, that is all 
right. Now, if you have any money to throw away upon 
me I will try to do you credit with it. Don’t I always do 
you credit ? ” 

“Credit? You are the handsomest girl I ever saw. 
Do me credit ? Why, of course, and always will. Come 
and kiss me, my dear. I declare you would charm the 
heart of a wheel-barrow. Now, how much would you 
like this morning? Strike it high, girl. Understand, you 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


307 


can have all the money you want. You will go to Oswego 
and see your friends and have a good time. Perhaps they 
won’t have much money to throw away, but don’t let 
that stand in the way. Trot out the whole of them and 
set up the entire business yourself. Take them all down 
to Watkin’s Glen, or some place else. There’s nothing to 
do in Oswego. You can’t spend half the money I can 
give you. Why, dash it, I cleared fifty thousand dollars 
before lunch-time to-day, and now how much will you 
have of it ? ” 

“ Well, there’s a little bill at Murray’s for odds and 
ends.” 

“ How much ? ” 

‘‘ Oh, five or six hundred, perhaps.” 

‘‘ Blow five or six hundred ! Is that all the money you 
can spend ? Of course you are the best-dressed woman 
in town, but you must do better than this. I tell you 
you have just got to sweep all these other women away 
like flies before you. I’ll clothe you in gold if you say the 
word. Five or six hundred ! Rubbi^ ! ” 

He struck a bell, and the impressionable Moses ap- 
peared. 

How much will you have ? ” he said to Nina, smiling. 
He loved to try and stagger her with his magnificence. 

‘‘ I suppose Murray ought to be paid and a few other 
bills lying about.” Nina thought this would be a good 
chance for Jack, and she said to herself she would strike 
it high. 

‘‘I suppose a thousand dollars would do,” she said, 
rather timidly ; adding, “ with Murray and all.” 

‘‘ Damn Murray and all ! ” cried Mr. Lindon, in a burst 
of good nature. You sha’n't pay any of them. — Moses, 
write Miss Lindon a check for a couple of thousand, and 
bring it here.” 

While Moses wrote the check out, Lindon, with a 


3o8 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


display of affection he rarely showed, drew Nina down 
upon his knee. 

“ How did you make so much money to-day, father ? ” 
she asked. 

“Oh, you don’t know anything about such matters. 
Yesterday I bought the stock of a Canadian railway. At 
ten o’clock this morning it took a sudden rise because I 
let people know I was buying. I got a lot of it before I 
let them know, and then up she went, steadily, the whole 
morning. At twelve o’clock I had made at least fifty 
thousand, and by nightfall I may have made a hundred 
thousand. I don’t know how it stands just now, and I 
don’t much care.” 

This was the identical stock Hampstead had been un- 
able to retain. If he could have held on a few hours longer 
he would have made more honestly on this day than he had 
stolen at the same hour. 

The check was signed and handed to Nina. She put 
it in her shopping-bag and took her father’s head between 
her hands and kisse'd his capable old face with a warmth 
that surprised him a little. To her this was a final .good- 
ly* 

“You’re a good old daddy to me,” she said, feeling 
her heart rise at the thought of leaving him forever. She 
ran off then to the door to conceal her feelings. 

“Just wait,” he said, “till we go to England soon, and 
then I’ll show you what’s what.” 

She made an effort to seem bright, and cast back at 
him a glance like bright sun through mists, as she said : 

“ Of course — yes. We must not forget ‘the dook.’ ” 

She cashed the check with satisfaction, knowing that 
it took Jack a long time to save two thousand dollars. 

When she rolled down to the wharf the next day in 
the Lindon barouche, the officials on the steamboat’s deck 
were impressed with her magnificence and beauty. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


309 


For most men, nothing could be more sweetly beauti- 
ful than her appearance, as she went carefully along the 
gangway to the old Eleusinian, and there was quite a 
competition between the old captain and the young second 
officer as to who should show her more civility. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

Comprehensive talkers are apt to be tiresome when we are not athirst for 
information ; but to be quite fair, we must admit that superior reticence is a 
good deal due to lack of matter. Speech is often barren ; but silence also 
does not necessarily brood over a full nest. — George Eliot — {Felix Holt). 

It did not take Detective Dearborn long to find out 
that Jack had engaged a cab early in the morning and had 
then removed some luggage from his rooms. This con- 
firmed him in the idea that the crime had been a carefully 
planned one. But his trouble lay in not being able to 
find the driver of the cab. This man had driven off some- 
where on a trip that took him apparently out of town, and 
Dearborn began to wonder whether Jack had been driven 
to some neighboring town, so as to proceed in a less con- 
spicuous way by some railway. 

Late at night, however, Jehu turned up at his own 
house very drunk. The horses had brought him home 
without being driven. He had been down at Leslieville 
all day, with some sports,” who were enjoying a pigeon- 
shooting match at that place, and who had retained cabby 
at regulation rates and all he could drink — a happy day 
for him. Dearborn found he could tell him nothing about 
the occurrence of the morning of the same day, or where 
he had gone with Jack’s valises ; so, perforce, he had to 
let him sleep it off till morning. 

The first rational account the detective could get out 


310 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


of him was at ten o’clock on the morning following. He 
then found out why the valises had not been seen at the 
railway stations, or at any of the usual points of departure. 
The caretaker of the yacht club could only tell him, when 
he called, that Mr. Cresswell had been at the club some- 
where about noon the day before, and had gone away in 
his boating-clothes, rowing east round the head of the 
wharf close by. 

I must tell you,” said Dearborn to the caretaker, 
“ that Mr. Cresswell’s friends are alarmed at his absence 
and have sent me to look after him. Would you know the 
boat he went in if you saw it ? ” 

Oh, yes. I handle it frequently, in one way and 
and another. I painted it for him last spring.” 

“ Well, if you don’t mind making a dollar, I’d be glad 
if you would walk along the docks and help me find it.” 

Come along,” said the caretaker. “ There is nothing 
to do here, at this hour, but watch the club-house, and I 
certainly can’t make an extra dollar doing that. We’ll 
call it two dollars if I find the boat, seeing as how I’m 
dragged off from duty.” 

“ All right,” said Dearborn, who had carte blanche for 
expenses from the bank. 

They walked off together at a good pace. 

“You say that none of the yachts left the harbor yes- 
terday ? 

“ No. There they are, over there, every one of them.” 

“ Well, what size was the skiff he went off in } ” 

“ An ordinary fourteen-foot shooting-skiff. One of old 
Rennardson’s. You mind old Rennardson ? He built a 
handy boat, did the old man.” 

“ Could it cross the lake ? ” 

“Well it could, perhaps, on six days in the week, in 
summer. Perhaps on the seventh the best handling in the 
world wouldn’t save her. But they are a fine little boat. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


3II 

for all that. I’ve crossed the bay myself in them when 
there was an all-fired sea runnin’.” 

“ Could it have crossed the lake yesterday ? ” 

I don’t think Mr. Cresswell would be such a fool as 
to try. Perhaps he could have done it if anybody could. 
But risks for nothing ain’t his style. Not but what he’ll 
run his chances when the time comes. You should have 
seen him bring in that Ideal last fall, in the race I sailed 
with him. The wind sprung up heavy in the afternoon. 
Lord ! it was a sight to see that boat come in to the win- 
nin’ buoy with the mast hanging over her bows like a 
Greek fruiter. You see, he had the wind dead after him. 
Mowin’ heavy, and he’d piled rags on to her, wings and 
all, till she was in a blind fury and goin’ through it like a 
harpooned whale. The owner was a-standing by him 
a-watchin’ for everythin’ to carry out of her. ‘ Jack,’ says 
he, ‘ she can’t do it. The backstays won’t do the work.’ 
‘Slack them up, then, four inches, and let the mast do its 
own part of the work,’ says Mr. Cresswell. And he kept 
on easin’ backstays to give fair play all round, till the mast 
was hangin’ forward like a cornstalk ; but I’m dummed if 
he’d lift a rag on her till she passed the gun. Perhaps 
you don’t care for that sort of thing. I follered the sea 
myself formerly. Lord ! it was immense, that little sail ! 
And thirty seconds ain’t a great deal to win on. Nothin’ 
but bull-head grit would ha’ done it.” 

Mr. Dearborn was not much comforted by all this talk. 
Cresswell might have crossed the lake in his skiff. Evi- 
dently he was a man who would do it if he wished. They 
continued their search on every wharf and through every 
boat-house, which occupied a good deal of time. 

Suddenly, near Yonge Street wharf, the caretaker said : 
“ Give us your two dollars, mister. There’s the skiff on 
the deck of the stone-hooker.” 

Inquiries soon showed that Jack had gone off on the 


312 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


schooner North Star to Oswego, and then Mr. Dearborn 
began to look grave. The schooner had got a long start. 
He was well acquainted with all different routes to differ- 
ent places, and he finally decided to go on the Eleusinian 
by water to Oswego. Possibly he might be able to come 
across the schooner in the lake before she arrived at 
Oswego, and bribe the captain to land him and his pris- 
oner on Canadian soil, where his warrant would be good. 
He had still half an hour to spare, so he dashed off in a 
cab to the chiefs office, and wired the Oswego police to 
arrest Jack, on the arrival of the North Star, on the 
charge of bringing stolen money into the States. 

Of course. Dearborn knew he could not extradite Jack 
from Oswego for his offense, but he thought that after 
being locked up the money could be scared out of him, 
when he found that he could get a long sentence in the 
States on the above charge, which Dearborn knew could 
be proved if the stolen bills were found in his posses- 
sion. 

If Geoffrey had known what the able Mr. Dearborn 
had ferreted out, and what his plans were, he would have 
felt more uneasy. 

As the afternoon wore on, it was interesting to watch 
two very unconcerned people at the bow of the upper 
deck of the Eleusinian. The steamer was making ex- 
cellent time — plowing into the eye of the wind with all 
the power that had so nearly dragged the life out of the 
poor Ideal in the preceding summer. Nina was sitting in 
an arm-chair, cushioned into comfort by the assiduous 
second officer, who found that his duties much required 
his presence in that portion of the boat where Nina hap- 
pened to he. She was sitting, looking through the spy- 
glasses from time to time at every sail that hove in sight, 
and seeming disinclined to leave the deck. 

Mr. Dearborn was tempting providence by smoking 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


313 


a cigar close by. The steamer went almost too fast to 
pitch much, but there was a decided rise and fall at the 
bows. He noticed that the officer suggested to Nina 
that by sitting further aft she would escape some of the 
motion, and that she declined the change, saying she 
liked the breeze and was a good sailor. Once they passed 
close to a vessel with three masts. Dearborn had ascer- 
tained, before leaving, that the North Star had only two 
masts, so he was not anxious. Nina, however, knew 
nothing about the. rig of the North Star, and she was up 
standing beside the bulwarks gazing intently through the 
binoculars at the crew. She seemed disappointed when 
she lowered the glasses, and Dearborn began to wonder 
whether this was the woman in the case.” He afterward 
watched her as she attempted to read a novel, and noticed 
that she continually stopped to scan the horizon. Still, 
nearly every person does this, more or less, and his idea 
rather waned again as he thought that this was quite too 
fine a person to bother her head about a poor bank-clerk 
— such a man as he was hunting. Mr. Dearborn, per- 
haps owing to the peculiar formation of his jaw, generally 
lost all idea of the respectability of a man as soon as he 
got on his trail. He might have the benefit of all doubts 
in his favor until the warrant for his arrest was placed in 
Mr. Dearborn’s hands. After that, as a rule, the indi- 
vidual, whether acquitted or not at his subsequent trial, 
took no high stand in Mr. Dearborn’s mind. If acquitted, 
it was only the result of lawyers’ trickery ; not on account 
of innocence. Men who ought to know best say that 
if a prize-fighter wishes to win he must actually hate his 
antagonist — must fight to really kill him ; and that only 
when he is entirely disabled is it time enough to hope 
that he will not die. Mr. Dearborn, similarly, had that 
tenacity of purpose that made every attempt at escape 
seem to double the culprit’s guilt, and in a hard capture 


314 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


this supplied him with that “ gall ” which could meet and 
overcome the desperate courage of a man at bay. 

Soon another schooner loomed up in the moist air of 
the east wind, and, when the hull was visible, Mr. Dear- 
born approached Nina and said : 

“Would you oblige me, madame, by allowing me to 
look through your glasses ? ” 

“ Certainly,” said Nina; “they belong to the ship— 
not to me.” 

Dearborn took a long look at the approaching vessel. 
The North Star had been described to him as having a 
peculiar cut-away bow, and the vessel coming across their 
track had a perpendicular bow. 

Nina then looked through the glasses intently, and for 
a moment they stood beside each other. 

“ I wonder why all the vessels seem to be crossing our 
track, instead of going in our direction,” she said to quiet- 
looking Mr. Dearborn. 

“ I don’t know much about sailing, miss. But 1 know 
that vessels can’t sail straight into the wind. They see- 
saw backward and forward, first one way and then the 
other. How they get up against the wind I could never 
understand. They are like lawyers, I think. They see a 
point ahead of them, and they just beat about the bush 
till they get there. Some of these things are hard to take 
in.” 

Nina smiled. 

“ A good many of these vessels,” added Mr. Dearborn, 
while he watched his fair companion, “ are going to Oswe- 

“ Oh, indeed ! ” said Nina, unconsciously brightening. 

“ And the wind is ahead for that trip,” said Dearborn. 

“Is it?” 

Nina had been round Lake Ontario in a yacht, and she 
had had an English boarding-school finish. She could 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


315 


have told the general course of the Ganges or the Hoang- 
ho, but she had no idea in what direction she was going 
on her own lake to Oswego. In English schools Canada 
is a land not worth learning about, and where hardly 
any person would live voluntarily. People go about 
chiefly on snow-shoes, and it is easy in most places to kill 
enough game for dinner from your own door-step. 

“ Yes, it would take a sailing vessel a long time, I should 
think, to get to Oswego.” 

“ How long do you suppose ? ” asked Nina. 

“ I don’t really know. It depends on the vessel. I 
suppose a smart yacht could do it in a pretty short time. 
That Toronto yacht, the Ideal, I suppose, could — ” 

“ Oh, you know the Ideal ? ” 

No. She was pointed out to me once. They say 
she’s a rare one to go, and no mistake. That young fel- 
low, Treadwell, that sails her — they say he is one of the 
finest yachtsmen in Canada.’* 

“ Oh,” said Nina, laughing and blushing. It was 
funny to hear this quiet stranger praising Jack. She felt 
proud of his small glory. 

Yes,” said Dearborn, rubbing his forehead, as if try- 
ing to recollect. “That’s his name — Treadwell. How- 
ever, it does not matter.” 

“Not at all,” said Nina. She was somewhat more on 
her guard now against strangers since her experience with 
the Rev. Matthew Simpson. But evidently this man did 
not even know Jack’s name, and did not want to know it 
for any reason. 

Dearborn was hanging “off and on,” as sailors say, 
thinking that if she knew anything about this Cresswell 
she would perhaps give him a lead. Not getting any lead, 
he muttered half aloud, by way of coming back to the 
point : 

“Treadwell — Treadwell — no — that’s not the name.” 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


316 

Then aloud. It’s provoking when one can not remem- 
ber a name, madame.” 

He then fell to muttering other similar sounding names, 
and Nina could not refrain from smiling at his stupid, 
mild way of bothering himself about what was clearly no 
use to him. 

“ Ah ! I have it ! What a relief it is to succeed in a 
little thing like that ! Cresswell. That’s the name ! ” 

The air of triumph on the mild-eyed man was amus- 
ing, and Nina laughed softly to herself. 

He turned from gazing over the water and saw her 
laughing. Then he smiled, too, as if he wished to join in, 
if there was anything to laugh at. 

“ You are amused, madame. Perhaps you know this 
gentleman quite well — and are laughing at my stupidity ? ” 

“ I ought to,” said Nina, unable to resist the tempta- 
tion to paralyze this well-behaved person of the middle 
classes. “ I am his wife.” And she laughed heartily at 
her little joke. 

If ever a man did get a surprise it was detective Dear- 
born. For a bare instant, it threw him off his guard. He 
saw too much all at once. Here was the woman who per- 
haps had all the $50,000 on her person. He tried to show 
polite surprise and pleasure at the intelligence ; but it was 
too late. For an instant he had looked keen. Compara- 
tively, Nina was brighter nowadays. Danger and decep- 
tion had sharpened her faculties. She was thoughtless 
enough, certainly, to mention who she was ; but she did 
not see any reason why she should not. She might as 
well call herself Mrs. Cresswell now as when she got to 
Oswego, where she would have to do so. Mr. Dearborn 
had gone almost as far in self-betrayal. He longed for a 
warrant to arrest her, and get the money from her, but he 
said in his subdued, abstracted sort of way : 

“ How strange that is ! No wonder you laugh ! How- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


317 


ever, I said nothing against him — quite the contrary — and 
that is always a comfort when we feel we have been put- 
ting our foot in it. I was wondering, Mrs. Cresswell, who 
you were. It seemed to me I had seen you on the street 
in Toronto.” 

He spoke very politely. No one could take any ex- 
ception to his tone. Even when he made the following 
remark it did not seem very much more than the ordinary 
growth of a chance conversation among travelers. He 
added : 

“ Let me see — a ? Your maiden name was — a ? ” He 
raised his eyebrows with would-be polite inquiry ; but it 
did not work. He had looked keen for the tenth part of 
a second, and now he might as well go in and rest him- 
self for the remainder of the night. 

Nina drooped her eyelids coldly. 

“ I do not know that that is a matter of any conse- 
quence.” 

She gave a little movement, as if she drew herself to 
herself, and she leisurely returned the glasses to their case. 

Mr. Dearborn saw he had got his co7tge\ and he wanted 
to kill himself. He felt rather awkward, and could not 
think of the right thing to say. The writer of Happy 
Thoughts has not provided mankind with the best reply 
to a snub that comes “ straight from the shoulder.” Even 
a Chesterfield may be unequal to the occasion. 

I hope you will not think me inquisitive ? ” he said 
lamely. 

“ Not at all,” said Nina quickly. She slightly in- 
clined her head, without looking at him, as she moved 
away to her chair — not wishing to appear too abrupt. 

She sat there wondering who this man was, and think- 
ing she had been foolish to say anything about herself. 
The evening came on chill, windy, and foggy, and she grew 
strangely lonely. She had got the idea that this man was 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


318 

watching her. It made her very nervous and wretched. 
She longed for some strong friend to be with her — some 
one on whom she could rely. Everything had conspired 
to depress her in the past few weeks. She had now left 
her home and a kind father— never to return. She was 
out in the world, with no one to look to but Jack. This 
would be a long night for her, she thought. She was too 
nervous to go to sleep. She felt so tired of all the unrest 
of her life. What would she not give to have all her 
former chances back before her again ! How she longed 
for the mental peace she had known until lately. Oh, the 
fool she had been ! the wickedness of it all ! How she 
had been forced from one thing to another by the conse- 
quences of her fault ! She was terribly wretched, poor 
girl, as the evening wore on. She went to her cabin and 
undressed for bed. She said her prayers kneeling on the 
damp carpet. She prayed for Jack’s safety and for her own, 
and for the man who assisted her to all her misery. Still 
her despair and forlornness weighed upon her more and 
more. The sense of being entirely alone, without any 
protection from a nameless fear, which the idea of being 
watched all day by an unknown man greatly increased ; 
the terrible doubt about everything in the future — all this 
culminated in an absolute terror. She lay in bed and tried 
to pray again, and then an idea she acquired when a 
child came to her, that prayers were unavailing unless said 
while kneeling on the hard floor. In all her terror, the 
conviction of wickedness almost made her faint, and to 
make things worse, she got those awful words into her 
head, ‘‘the wages of sin is death,” and she could not get 
them out. Yielding to the idea that her prayers would be 
better if said kneeling, she climbed out panic-stricken to 
the cold floor, which chilled her to the bone, and terri- 
fied by the words ringing in her head she almost shrieked 
aloud : 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


3^9 


O God, take those words away from me ! O God, 
thou knowest I have suffered ! O God, I am terrified ! I 
am alone. O God, protect me ! Forgive me all things, 
for 1 do repent.” 

Here she felt that if she prayed any more she would 
be hysterical and beyond her own control. She crept 
back into bed ; but all she could think of until she dropped 
to sleep, exhausted, was, “ The wages of sin is death— The 
wages of sin — is Deaths 


CHAPTER XXV. 

Brutus : O that a man might know 

The end of this day’s business ere it come 1 
But it sufficeth that the day will end, 

And then the end is known. 

yuUus Ccesar. 

When Jack got on board the North Star he found 
that, although he had shipped as working passenger, the 
wily mate had taken him as one of the crew, with the in- 
tention, doubtless, of pocketing the wages which otherwise 
would have gone to the sailor who would have been em- 
ployed. Several of the sailors were rather intoxicated, and 
the rest were just getting over a spree. They came down 
into the forecastle just before leaving, and seeing Jack 
there, whom they did not know, were very silent. One of 
them at last said : 

Is every man here a Union man } ” 

Jack knew he was not, and that, being ignorant of se- 
cret signs, he would perhaps be found out. He answered, 
“I don’t belong to the Union.” 

The man who spoke first then said sulkily : “ That 
settles it ; I’m going ashoise. The rules says that no 


320 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


member shall sail on a vessel if there is any scab on 
board.'" 

Jack understood from this, after a moment’s thought, 
that this expression must refer to one who did not avail 
himself of the healthy privileges of the Sailors’ Union. 

He explained that he was only going as a passenger, 
and was not under pay. 

This seemed to make the matter satisfactory, and after 
the malcontent quieted down they all got to work peace- 
fully. It took them a long time to get all the canvas set 
while the tug towed the vessel out of and beyond the 
harbor. 

Jack found he was no match for these men in the toil 
of making heavy canvas. He felt like a child among, 
them. The halyards were so large and coarse to the 
touch, and after being exposed to the weather, their fiber 
was like fine wire and ate into his hands painfully, al- 
though the latter were well enough seasoned for yachting 
work. His hands almost refused to hold the ropes when 
they had got thoroughly scalded in the work, and by the 
time all the canvas was set he was ready to drop on the 
deck with exhaustion. 

He was on the mate’s watch. This man saw that, al- 
though Jack was physically inferior, his knowledge seemed 
all right. This puzzled the sailors. He was dressed in 
clothes which had looked rough and plebeian on the Ideal, 
but here he was far too well dressed. If there were tears 
in his clothes and in his hat, there were no patches any- 
where, and this seemed to be, prima facie^ a suspicious cir- 
cumstance. He regretted that his clothes were not down 
to the standard. After being reviled on the yachts be- 
cause they were so disreputable, he now felt that they were 
so particularly aristocratic that he longed for the garments 
of a tramp. He saw that if the sailors suspected that he was 
not one of themselves by profession they would send him 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


321 


to Coventry for the rest of the trip. This would be un- 
pleasant, for as the men got sober they proved good- 
humored fellows in their way, although full of cranks and 
queer ideas. 

At eight bells, on the first night, Jack came on deck in 
a long ulster, which, although used for duck-shooting and 
sailing for five years since it last saw King Street, was still 
painfully whole.. The vessel was lying over pretty well 
and thrashing through the waves in creditable style. The 
watch just going off duty had “ put it up ” with the mate 
that Jack should be sent aloft to stow the fore-gafftopsail. 

They could not make Jack out. And when he went 
up the weather-rigging, after slipping out of the ulster, 
every man on board except the captain was covertly watch- 
ing him — wondering how he would get through the task. 
The topsail had been “ clewed up ” at the masthead— 
and was banging about in the strong wind like a suspended 
Chinese lantern. 

Suppose a person were to tie together the four corners 
of a new drawing-room carpet, and were then to hoist it 
in this shape to the top of a tall pine tree bending in the 
wind to an angle of thirty degrees. Let him now climb 
up, and with a single long line master the banging mass 
by winding the line tightly around it from the top down to 
the bottom, and afterward secure the long bundle to the 
side of the tree. If this be done, by way of experiment, 
while the seeker after knowledge holds himself on as best 
he can by his legs, and performs the operation on a black 
night entirely by the sense of touch he will understand part 
of what our lake sailors have to do. 

Jack, to say truly, had all he wanted. The sail was a 
new one. The canvas and the bolt-ropes were so stiff as 
to almost defy his strength. But he got it done and de- 
scended, tired enough. All hands were satisfied that he 
knew a good deal, and yet they said they were sure he was 
21 


322 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


“ not quite the clean wheat.” The ulster had been very 
damaging. 

The evening of the second day saw them still working 
down the lake, and having had some favorable slants of 
wind they had got well on their way. As Jack’s watch 
went below at midnight, a fog had settled over the sea, 
and he was glad to get down out of the cold, and have a 
comfortable smoke before turning into his old camping 
blankets for the rest of his four hours off. 

By the light of a bad-smelling tin lamp nailed against 
the Samson-post, and sitting on a locker beside one of the 
swinging anchor chains that came down through the hawse 
pipe from the deck above into the fore-peak under the 
man’s feet, one of the sailors fell to telling one of his 
many adventures on the lakes. There was no attempt at 
humor in this story. It was a simple, artless tale of deadly 
peril, cold, exhaustion, and privation on our inland sea. 
It was told with a terrible earnestness, born of a realization 
of the awful anxiety that had stamped upon his perfect 
memory every little detail that occurred. 

This was an experience when, in the month of Decem- 
ber, the schooner he was then sailing on had been sent on 
a last trip from Oswego to Toronto. They had almost got 
around the Lighthouse Point at Toronto, after a desper- 
ately cold passage, when a gale struck them, and, not be- 
ing able to carry enough canvas to weather the point, they 
were thus driven down the lake again with the sails either 
blown from the bolt-ropes or split to ribbons, with the ex- 
ception of a bit of the foresail, with which they ran before 
the wind. To go to South Bay would probably mean being 
frozen in all winter, and perhaps the loss of the ship, so 
the captain headed for Oswego, hoping the snow and sleet 
would clear off to enable them to see the harbor when they 
got there. On the way down a huge sea came over the 
stern, stove in the cabin, and smashed the compasses. 


GfeOFFREY HAMPSTEAD, 


323 


We hadn’t kept no dead reckonin’, an' we cudn’t tell 
anyways how fast we wus goin’. We just druv’ on afore 
it for hours. Cudn’t see more’n a vessel’s length any- 
wheres for snow, and, as for ice, we wus makin’ ice on 
top of her like you’d think we wus a-loadin’ ice from a 
elevator; we wus just one of ‘ Greenland’s icy mountings’ 
gone adrift. Waal, the old man guv it up at last, and ac- 
knowledged the corn right up and up. Says he, ‘ Boys, 
she’s a goner. We’ve druv’ down below and past Oswego, 
and that’s the last of her.’ ” 

“ This looked pretty bad — fur the old man to collapse 
all up like this ; fur all on yer knows as well as I do that 
to get down below Oswego in a westerly gale in December 
means that naathin* is goin’ to survive but the insurance. 
There’s no harbors, ner shelter, ner lifeboats, ner naathin’. 
Yer anchors are no more use to yer off that shore than a 
busted postage-stamp. Thet’s the time, boys, fur to jine 
the Salvation Army and trample down Satan under yer 
feet and run her fur the shore and pray to God for a soft 
spot and lots of power fer to drive her well up into a 
farm. 

“ Waal, gents, the old man tuckered out, and went off 
to his cabin fur to make it all solid with his ’eavenly par- 
ents, and two or three of us chaps as hed been watchin’ 
things pretty close come to the conclusion thet we hedn t 
got below Oswego yet. So we all went in a body, as a 
kind o’ depitation from ourselves, and says us to the old 
man : ^ Hev you guv up the nevigation of this vessel ? be- 
cus, ef yer hev, there’s others here as wud like to take a 
whack at playin’ captain.’ 

‘‘ ^ All right,’ says the old man from his knees (fur he 
was down gettin’ the prayers ready-made out of a book), 
‘ I’ve guv her up,’ says he; ' do you jibe your fores’l and 
head her fur the sutherd and look out for a soft spot. Yer 
kin do what yer likes with her.’ 


324 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


‘‘So we jibes the fores’l then, just puttin’ the wheel 
over and lettin’ the wind do the rest of it, fer there was 
six inches of ice on to the sheets, and yer couldn’t touch a 
line anywheres unless yer got in to it with a axe. Waal, 
the old fores’l flickers across without carryin’ away naath- 
in’, and, just as we did this, another vessel heaves right 
across the course we hed been a-driven’on. Our helm was 
over and the ship was a-swingin’ when we sighted her, or 
else we’d have cut her in two like a bloomin’ cowcumber. 
And then we seed our chance. That ere vessel was goin’ 
along, on the full kioodle, with every appearance of know- 
in’ where she was goin’ to — which we didn’t. ‘ Hooray ! ’ 
says we, ’ we ain’t below Oswego yet, and that vessel will 
show us the road. She’s got the due course from some- 
wheres, and she’s our only chance.’ 

“And we follered her. You can bet your Sunday 
pants we was everlastin’ly right on her track. She was all 
we hed, boys, ‘tween us and th’ etarnal never-endin’ 
psalm. Death seemed like a awful cold passage that time, 
boys ! We wus all frost-bit and froze up ginerally ; and 
clothes weren’t no better’n paper onto us.” 

“ But she had a leetle more fores’l onto her than we 
hed ; and after a while she begun to draw away from us. 
We hed naathin’ left more to set fer to catch up with her. 
We hollered to make her ease up, but she paid no atten- 
tion. Guess she didn’t hear, or thought we hed our com- 
passes all right — which we hedn’t. Waal, gents, it was a 
awful time. Our last chance was disappearin’ in the snow- 
storm, and there wus us left there, ’most froze to death, 
and not knowin’ where to go. Yer cudn’t see her, thro’ 
the snow, more’n two lengths ahead ; and, when she got 
past that, all yer cud see was the track of her keel in the 
water right under our bows. Well, fellows, I got down 
furrud on the chains, and we ’stablished a line o’ signals 
from me along the rest of them to the man at the wheel. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


325 


If I once lost that track in the water we wus done forever. 
Sometimes I wus afeared I hed lost it, and then I got it 
again, and then it seemed to grow weaker ; and I thought 
a little pray to God would do no harm. And I lifts up my 
hand — so — ” 

The man had left his seat and was crouching on the 
floor as he told this part of the story. The words rolled 
out with a terrific energy as he glared down at the floor, 
stooping in the attitude in which he had watched the track 
in the water. The tones of his voice had a wild terror in 
them that thrilled Jack to the very core, and made him 
feel as if he could not breathe. 

“ And I lifts up me hand — so (and, gents, I wus lookin’ 
at that streak in the water. I want yer to understand I 
was a-lookin* at it). And I lifts up me hand — so — and I 
says ‘ Holy Christ, don’t let that vessel get off no farder- 
er — ’ ” 

The story was never finished. 

A sound came to them that seemed to Jack to be only 
a continuation of the horror of the story he had heard. A 
crash sounded through the ship and they were all knocked 
off their seats into the forepeak with a sudden shock. They 
tumbled up on deck in a flash, and there they saw that a 
great steamer had mounted partly on top of the schooner’s 
counter. The mainmast had gone over the side to lee- 
ward. 

The schooner had been about to cross the steamer’s 
course when they first saw her lights in the fog, and, part- 
ly mistaking her direction, the sailing captain had put his 
ship about. This brought the stern of the schooner, as 
she swung in stays, directly in line with the course of the 
steamer. The steamer’s helm was put hard over, and the 
engines were reversed, but not until within fifty feet of the 
schooner. The stern of the schooner swung around as she 
turned to go off on the other tack, so that, although the 


326 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


Stem or cutwater of the steamer got past, the counter of 
the schooner was struck and forced through the steamer’s 
starboard bow under the false sides. When they struck, 
the schooner’s stern was depressed in the seaway and the 
steamer’s bow was high in the air, so that the latter re- 
ceived a deadly blow which tore a hole about six feet high 
by ten long in her bow. Both boats went ahead together, 
chiefly owing to the momentum of the huge steamer. And 
for a moment the steamer’s false sides rested on what was 
left of the schooner’s counter on the port side. 

A man leaning over from the upper deck of the 
steamer cried : 

‘‘ What schooner is that ? ” 

“ Schooner North Star, of Toronto,” was the reply. 

The man vaulted over the bulwarks and slid actively 
down the sloping side of the steamer to the deck of the 
schooner and looked around him. No sooner had he 
done so than the motion of the waves parted the two 
boats. The steamer ceased to move ahead. The forward 
canvas of the schooner had caught the wind and she was 
beginning to pay off on the port tack, the mainmast, main- 
sail, and rigging dragging in the water. 

Jack, who was filled with helpless anxiety, then dis- 
covered that the steamer was the Eleusinian. At the 
same moment he heard a shriek from the bow of the 
steamer and there he saw Nina, her long hair driving be- 
hind her, beckoning him to come to help her. The 
steamer, filling like a broken bottle, had already taken one 
lurch preparatory to going down and Jack yelled : 

‘‘Jump, Nina ! Jump into the water and I will save 
you ! ” 

But Nina, not knowing that the steamer was going 
down, had not the courage to cast herself into the black 
heaving waves. 

Jack saw this hesitation, and yelled to her again to 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


327 


jump. He made fast the end of a coil of light line, and 
then sprang to the bulwarks to jump overboard so that 
when he swam to the bows of the steamer Nina could 
jump into the water near him. 

He knew without looking that the schooner, with no 
after-canvas set, could do nothing at present but fall off 
and drift away before the wind, as she was now doing, 
and as her one yawl boat had been smashed to dust in the 
collision, the only chance for Nina was for him to have a 
line in his hand whereby to regain the schooner as it 
drifted off. It was a wild moment for Jack, but his nerve 
was equal to the occasion. While he belayed the end of 
the light line to a ring on the bulwarks, he called to his 
mates on the schooner to let go everything and douse 
their forward canvas. 

It takes a long time even to read what had to be done. 
What Jack did was done in a moment ; but as he sprang 
to the bulwarks to vault over the side, a strong pair of 
arms seized him from behind and held him like a vice 
with his arms at his sides. 

‘‘Let me go,” he cried, as he struggled in the grasp of 
a stranger. 

“ No, sir. You’re wanted. I have had trouble enough 
to get you without letting you drown yourself.” 

Jack struggled wildly ; but the more frantic he became 
the more he roused the detective to ferocity. He heaved 
forward to throw Dearborn over his head ; but the two 
fell together, crashing their heads upon the deck, where 
they w'rithed convulsively. 

The iron grip never relaxed. At last Jack, lifting 
Dearborn with him, got on his feet and, seizing something 
on the bulwarks to hold himself in position, he stopped his 
efforts to escape. “ For God’s sake,” he cried brokenly, 
“ for Christ’s sake, let me go ! See, there she is ! She is 
going to be my wife ! 


328 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


In his excitement Dearborn forgot that the woman on 
the steamer might have the stolen money with her. To 
him Jack’s jumping overboard promised certain death and 
the loss of a prisoner. 

As Jack tried to point to Nina, who was clasping the 
little flag-pole at the bow of the steamer — a white figure in 
the surrounding gloom, waving and apparently calling to 
him — he saw the stea.mer take a slow, sickening lurch for- 
ward, and then a long lurch aft. The bows rose high in 
the air, with that poor desolate figure clasping the flag- 
pole, and then the Eleusinian slowly disappeared. 

For an instant the bows remained above the surface 
while the air escaped from the interior, and the last that 
could be seen was the white figure clinging desperately to 
the little mast as if forsaken by all. No power had an- 
swered her agonies of prayer for deliverance. 

After the strong man who had pinioned Jack saw the 
vessel go down, he became aware that he was holding his 
culprit up rather than down. He looked around at his 
face, and there saw a pair of staring eyes that discerned 
nothing. He laid him on the deck then, and finally placed 
him in the after-cabin on the floor. Jack did not regain 
consciousness. His breathing returned only to allow a 
delirium to supervene. Dearborn and a sailor had again 
to hold him, or he would have plunged over the bulwarks, 
thinking the steamer had not yet sunk. 

The captain’s wife, who had been sleeping in the extra 
berth off the after-cabin, had been crushed between the 
timbers when the collision took place, and under the fran- 
tic orders of the captain the rest of the crew were trying 
to extricate the screaming woman. The mate had been 
disabled in the falling of the mainmast, so that no attempts 
were made to save those who were left swimming when 
the Eleusinian went down, and the schooner, under her 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


329 


forward canvas, sailed off, dragging her wreckage after 
her, slowly, of course, but faster than any one could swim. 
Thus no one was saved from the steamer except the de- 
tective, who had not thought of saving his own life when 
he had dropped to the deck of the schooner, but only of 
seizing Jack. 

The mate was able, after a time, to give his directions 
while lying on the deck. The wreckage was chopped 
away, and the vessel was brought nearer the wind to raise 
the injured port quarter well above the waves until canvas 
could be nailed over the gaping aperture. When this was 
done they squared away before the wind, hoisted the 
center-board, and made good time up the lake. They had 
a fair wind to Port Dalhousie — the only place available for 
dockyards and refitting — where they arrived at two o’clock 
in the day. 

After raving in delirium until they arrived at Port 
Dalhousie, Jack fell off tben into a sleep, and when the 
Empress of India was ready to leave at four o’clock for 
Toronto, Dearborn woke him up and found that his con- 
sciousness seemed to have partly returned. The detective 
was pleased that the disabled vessel had sought a Canadian 
port, where his warrant for Jack’s arrest was good. How- 
ever, the prisoner made no resistance, and at nine o’clock 
he was duly locked up at Toronto, having remained in a 
sort of stupor from which nothing could arouse him. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

The time is out of joint O cursed spite. 

That I was ever born to set it right. 

Hamlet. 

As the afternoon wore on, on that day when the bank 
lost its $50,000, Geoffrey Hampsted was back at his work 


330 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


as usual. He did not change his waistcoat while at his 
rooms, because he thought this might be remarked. He 
merely left the money there, and went back to his work as 
if nothing had happened. The excitement among the 
clerks in the bank was feverish. Geoffrey let them know 
what he and Dearborn had seen in Jack’s room, and that 
the confusion there clearly showed that he had gone off 
somewhere. Most faces looked black at this, but there 
were several who, in spite of the worst appearances, re- 
fused to believe in Jack’s guilt. Geoffrey was one of them. 
Geoffrey was quite broken down. Everybody felt sorry 
for him. He had made a great friend of Jack, and every 
one could see that the blow had almost prostrated him. 

Toward the end of the afternoon he said to a couple 
of his friends : “ I wish you fellows would dine with me 
to-night. I feel as if I had to have somebody with me.” 

These two did so. In the evening they picked up 
some more of the bank men, and all repaired to Geoffrey’s 
quarters. They saw he was drinking heavily, and per- 
haps out of fellow-feeling for a man who had had a blow, 
they also drank a good deal themselves, and lapsed into 
hilarity, partly in order to draw Geoffrey out of his gloom. 

At one o’clock the night was still young so far as they 
were concerned, and the liquor in the rooms had run short. 
Geoffrey did not wish to be left alone. The noise and 
foolishness of his friends diverted his thoughts from more 
unpleasant subjects. When the wine ran out, he said they 
must have some more. They said it would be impossible 
to get it ; but Geoffrey said Patsey Priest could procure it, 
and he rang on Mrs. Priest’s bell until Patsey appeared, 
looking like a disheveled monkey. He was received with 
an ovation. Geoffrey gave him the money, and sent him 
to a neighboring large hotel to get a case of champagne. 
When he returned, having accomplished his errand, the 
young gentlemen were enthusiastic over him. He was 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


331 

made to stand on a table and take an affidavit on an album 
that he had brought the right change back. Then some 
jackass said a collection must be taken up for Patsey, and 
he headed the list with a dollar. Of course, everybody else 
gave a dollar also, because this was such a fine idea. Mr. 
St. George Le Mesurier Hector Northcote was delighted 
with Patsey. “Mr. Priest,” he said, “you are a gentle- 
man and a man of finish ; but it grieves me to notice that 
your garments, although compatible with genius, do not, 
of themselves, suggest that luxury which genius should 
command. Wait here for a moment ; you must be clad in 
costly raiment.” 

Mr. St. G. Le M. H. Northcote darted unsteadily, 
not to say lurched, into Geoffrey’s room, looking for that 
“ very dreadful waistcoat ” which he had been pained to 
see Geoffrey wearing during the day. He found it at once 
in a closet, and, wrapping it in among several trousers and 
coats which he had selected at random, he came out again 
with the bundle in his hand. 

“ What are you doing there with my clothes ? ” asked 
Geoffrey, rising good-humoredly, but inwardly nervous, 
and going toward the bedroom as Northcote came out. 

“ I am going to give them to a gentleman whose station 
in life is not properly typified in his garb.” 

Geoffrey did not see the waistcoat lying inside one of 
the coats in the bundle, and so he thought it better to humor 
the idea than run any chances. He had taken off this ob- 
jectionable article before going to dinner, intending to 
come back and burn it when he had more time. 

He took the bundle from Northcote and handed it to 
Patsey as he dragged that individual to the door. “ Here,” 
he said. “ Don’t come down in rags to my room again. 
Now, get out.” 

Patsey disappeared hurriedly through the door. He 
had his own opinion of these young men who were so 


332 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


ready to pay for the pleasure of knocking him about, and 
if he had been required to classify mammalia he would 
not have applied the old name of homo sapiens to any spe- 
ies to which they belonged. 

The next day, to kill time during the anxious hours, 
Geoffrey went out yachting with Dusenall and several oth- 
ers. As the wind fell off, they did not reach the moorings 
again until late in the evening, when they dined at the 
club-house on the island, and slept on the Ideal instead of 
going home. After an early breakfast the next morning 
they were rowed across the bay, and Geoffrey reached the 
bank at the usual time. 

In this way, having been away from town all night, he 
knew nothing of the news that had spread like wildfire 
through certain circles on the previous night, that Jack 
Cresswell had been arested and brought to Toronto. The 
first person whom he met at the door of the bank was the 
omnipresent Detective Dearborn, who smiled and asked 
him what he thought of the news. 

“ What news ? ” asked Geoffrey, his eyes growing small. 

“ Why, this,” he replied, handing Geoffrey one of the 
morning papers, which he had not yet seen. Geoffrey 
read the following, printed in very large type, on the first 
page : 

CLEVER CAPTURE ! 

JACK CRESSWELL, THE VICTORIA BANK ROBBER ARRESTED ! 

THE STOLEN $$0,000 SUPPOSED TO BE NOW RECOVERED ! 
EXCITING CHASE AND EXTRAORDINARY DETECTIVE WORK ! 

A bull’s-eye for DETECTIVE DEARBORN ! 

PRISONER CAPTURED DURING A COLLISION BETWEEN TWO VESSELS ! 

WRECK OF THE STEAMER ELEUSINIAN ! ! 

ALL ON BOARD LOST ! ! 

EXCEPT THE WILY DETECTIVE. 

GREAT EXCITEMENT ! ! 

FURTHER DISCLOSURES ABOUT THE BANK ! ! ! 

THE BLOATED ARISTOCRACY SHAKEN TO ITS FOUNDATIONS ! ! ! ! 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


333 


Detective Dearborn, on his arrival in Toronto, was so 
certain of convicting his prisoner that he threw the hungry 
newspaper reporters some choice and tempting morceaux. 
And, from the little that he gave them, they built up such 
an interesting and imaginative article that one was forced 
to think of the scientific society described by Bret Harte, 
when Mr. Brown — 

Reconstructed there, 

From those same bones an animal that was extremely rare. 


Indeed, from the glowing colors in which the detective’s 
chase was painted, from the many allusions to Jack’s high 
standing in society and his terrible downfall, from a full 
description of Jack as being the petted darling of all the 
unwise virgins of the upper ten, and from the way that 
the name of Jack was familiarly bandied about, one neces- 
sarily ended the article with a disbelief in any form of 
respectability, especially in the upper classes, and with a 
profound conviction that society generally was rotten to 
the core. The name “Jack ” seemed now to have a crim- 
inal sound about it, and reminded the reader of “ Thimble- 
rig Jack ” and “ Jack Sheppard,” and other notorieties who 
have done much to show that people called “ Jack ” should 
be regarded with suspicion. 

Mr. Dearborn watched Geoffrey’s face as he glanced 
over the newspaper. Dearborn had a sort of an idea from 
all he could learn, that Jack had had a longer head than his 
own to back him up, and, for reasons which need not be 
mentioned now, he suspected that there was more than 
one in this business. 

However, Geoffrey knew that he was being watched, 
and his nerve was still equal to the occasion. He turned 
white, as a matter of course — so did everybody in the bank 
— and Dearborn got no points from his face. 

Geoffrey handed him back the paper, and said com^ 


334 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


misQratingly : “ Poor Jack, he has dished himself, sure 
enough, this time.” 

Dearborn served him then with a subpoena to attend 
the hearing before the police magistrate at an hour which 
was then striking, and Geoffrey walked over to the police 
court with him. 

Standing-room in the court that day was difficult to 
get. In the morning well-worn habituis of that interest- 
ing place easily sold the width of their bodies on the 
floor for fifty cents. 

Maurice Rankin had rushed off to see Jack in the 
morning. He knew nothing about the evidence, but he 
felt that Jack was innocent. He found his friend appar- 
ently in a sort of stupor, and was hardly recognized by 
him. 

“You must have the best lawyer I can get to defend 
you. Jack,” he said. 

No answer. 

“ Don’t you intend to make any defense or have any 
assistance.^ I can get you a splendid man in two min- 
utes.” 

Jack shook his head slowly, and said, with an evident 
effort : 

“No. I don’t care.” 

Rankin did not know what to make of him ; but, final- 
ly, he said : 

“Well, if you won’t have any person better, I will sit 
there, and if I see my way to anything I’ll perhaps say a 
word. You do not object to my doing this, do you?” 
Jack’s answer, or rather the motion of his head, might 
have meant anything, but Rankin took it to mean assent. 

At half-past nine. Jack was led from the cell outside to 
the court-room by two policemen who seemed partly to 
support him. 

A thrill ran through his old friends when they saw him. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


335 


His face was ghastly, and his jaw had dropped in an ener- 
vated way that gave him the appearance of a man who had 
been fairly cornered and had “ thrown up the sponge ” in 
despair. He had not been brushed or combed for two 
nights and a day. He still wore his old, dirty sailing 
clothes. The sailor’s sheath-knife attached to his leather 
belt had been removed by the police. His partial stupor 
was construed to be dogged sullenness, and it assisted in 
giving every one a thoroughly bad impression as to his in- 
nocence. 

After he was placed in the dock he sat down and ab- 
sently picked at some blisters on his hands, until the magis- 
trate spoke to him, and then the policemen ordered him 
to stand up. When he stood thus, partly raised above the 
spectators, his eyes were lusterless and stolid and he looked 
vacantly in the direction of the magistrate. 

“ John Cresswell, it is charged against you that you 
did, on the 25th day of August last, at the city of Toronto, 
in the county of York, feloniously steal, take, and carry 
away fifty thousand dollars, the property of the Victoria 
Bank of Canada,” etc. 

Rankin saw that Jack did not comprehend what was 
going on. He got up, and was going to say something 
when the magistrate continued ^ 

‘‘ Do you wish that the charge against you shall be tried 
by me or with a jury at the next assizes, or by some other 
court of competent jurisdiction ? ” 

No answer. 

The magistrate looked at Jack keenly. It struck him 
that the prisoner had been imbibing and was not yet sober, 
and so he spoke louder, and in a more explanatory and 
informal tone. 

“ You may be tried, if you like, on some other day, be- 
fore the county judge without a jury, or you may wait till 
the coming assizes and be tried with a jury, or, if you con- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


33S 

sent to it, you may be tried here, now, before me. Which 
do you wish to do ? ” 

Still no answer. 

Rankin considered. He knew nothing of the evidence, 
and thought it impossible for Jack to be guilty. He did 
not wish to relinquish any chances his friend might have 
with a jury, and he felt that Jack himself ought to answer 
if he could. He went to him and said simply, for it was 
so difficult to make him understand : 

“ Do you want to be tried now or afterward ? ” 

Jack nodded his head, while he seemed to be trying 
to collect himself. 

“ You mean to be tried now ? ” 

Jack looked a little brighter here, and said weakly : 

“ Certainly — why not ? ” 

Detective Dearborn had not been idle since his return ; 
and all the witnesses that the prosecution required were 
present. 

His first witness was Geoffrey Hampstead. His evi- 
dence was looked upon by the spectators as uninteresting, 
and merely for the sake of form. Everybody knew what 
he had to say. He merely explained how the packet of 
fifty bills belonging to the Victoria Bank had been put in 
a certain place on the desk in his box at the bank, and 
that, he said, was all he knew about it. 

At this point. Jack leaned over the bar and said, with 
a stupid pleasure in his face : 

Morry, there’s old Geoffrey. I can see him. What’s 
he talking about ? Say, if you get a chance, tell him I 
am awfully glad to see him again.” 

Rankin now became convinced that there was some- 
thing the matter with Jack’s head, and he resolved to 
speak to the court to obtain a postponement of the case 
when the present witness had given his evidence. 

It was also drawn from Geoffrey, by the county at- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


337 


torney, that the prisoner alone had had access to the place 
where the money lay, that it could not have been reached 
from the public hallway, and that the prisoner had gone 
out very soon after he had spoken to the witness — when 
the money lay within his reach. 

The crown prosecutor said he would ask the witness 
nothing more at present, but would require him again. 

Rankin then represented to the police magistrate that 
his client was too ill to give him any instructions in the 
matter. The defendant was a personal friend of his, and 
although willing to act for him, he was, as yet, completely 
in the dark as to any of the facts, and in view of this he 
deemed it only proper to request that the whole matter 
should be postponed until he should be properly able to 
judge for himself. 

The magistrate then asked, with something of a twin- 
kle in his eye. 

“ What do you think is the matter with your client, 
Mr. Rankin ? ” 

■^ It is hard for me, not being a doctor, to say,” an- 
swered Rankin, looking back thoughtfully toward Jack. 
“ I think, however, that he is suffering from some affection 
of the brain.” 

A horse-laugh was heard from some one among the 
“ unwashed,” and the police strained their heads to see 
who made the noise. The old plea of insanity seemed to 
be coming up once again, and one man in the crowd 
was certainly amused. 

The magistrate said : “ I do not think there is any 
reason why I should not go on hearing the evidence, now. 
I will note your objection, Mr. Rankin, and I perceive 
that you may be in a rather awkward position, perhaps, if 
you are in total ignorance of the facts.” 

Rankin was in a quandary. If he sat down and de- 
clined to cross-examine the witnesses or act for the de- 


22 


338 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


fendant in any way, Jack might be convicted, and all 
chances for technical loopholes of escape might be lost 
forever. There might, however, in this case, if the trial 
were forced on, be a ground for some after proceedings 
on the claim that he did not get fair play. On the other 
hand, cross-examination might possibly break up the 
prosecution, if the evidence was weak or unsatisfactory. 
He came to the conclusion that he would go on and exam- 
ine the witness and try to have it understood that he did 
so under protest. 

After partly explaining to the magistrate what he 
wished to do, he asked Geoffrey a few questions — not see- 
ing his way at all clearly, but just for the general purpose 
of fishing until he elicited something that he might use. 

“ You say that after the defendant spoke to you in the 
bank you heard him go out through the side door. Where 
does that side door lead } ” 

“ It leads into an empty hall, and then you go out of 
an outer side door into the street.” 

‘‘ Is not this outer side door sometimes left open in hot 
weather ? ” 

“ Yes, I think it was open all that day.” 

“ How are the partitions between the stalls or boxes of 
the different clerks in the Victoria Bank constructed ? ” 

“ They are made rather high (about five feet six high) 
and they are built of wood — black walnut, I think.” 

“ Then, if the door of your box was closed you could 
not see who came in or out of Mr. CresswelFs stall ? ” 

“ Only through the wicket between our boxes.” 

How long after Mr. Cresswell went out did you no- 
tice that the money was gone ?” 

“I can’t quite remember. I was going on with my 
work with my back to the money. It might have been 
from an hour to an hour and a half. I went out to the 
side door myself for an instant, to see what the weather 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


339 

was going to be in the afternoon. It was some time after 
I came back that I found that the money was gone.” 

“ Then, as far as you are able to tell, somebody might 
have come into Mr. CresswelTs stall after he went out, 
and taken the money without your knowing it ? ” 

“ Certainly. There was perhaps an hour and a half 
in which this could have been done.” 

“ This package of money, as it lay, could have been 
seen from the public hall-way of the bank through your 
front wicket, could it not ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And it was perfectly possible for a person, after seeing 
the money in this way, to go around and come in the side 
door, enter Mr. CresswelTs box and take the money ? ” 
“Yes, I have heard of as daring robberies as that.” 

“ Or it would have been easy for any of the other bank 
officials to have taken the money ? ” 

“If they had wished to do so — yes.” 

“ And it would have been possible for you, when you 
went to the side door, to have handed the money to some 
one there ready to receive it ? ” 

“ Oh, yes,” said Geoffrey, laughing ; “ I might have 
had a confederate outside. I could have given a confed- 
erate about two hundred thousand dollars that morning, I 
think.” 

“ Thank you,” said Rankin to Geoffrey, as he sat 
down. 

Geoffrey saw what Rankin wanted, and he assisted 
him as far as he could to open up any other possibilities 
to account for the disappearance of the money. 

The cabman who removed Jack’s valises early in the 
morning was then called. He identified Jack as the person 
who had engaged him. Had been often engaged before 
by Mr. Cresswell. He also identified Jack’s valises, which 
were produced. 


340 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


Rankin did not cross-examine this man. His evidence 
was brought in to show that Jack’s absconding was a 
carefully planned one — partly put into action before the 
stealing of the money — and not the result of any hasty 
impulse. 

The caretaker of the yacht-club house was also called, 
for the same object. He told what he knew, and was re- 
strained with difficulty from continually saying that he did 
not see anything suspicious about what he saw. The care- 
taker was evidently partial to the prisoner. 

Detective Dearborn then took the stand, and as he 
proceeded in his story the interest grew intense. But 
when he mentioned meeting a young lady on the steam- 
boat, and getting into a conversation with her, Rankin 
arose and said he had no doubt there were few ladies who 
could resist his friend Detective Dearborn, but that he did 
not see what she had to do with the case. 

Then the county attorney jumped to his feet and con- 
tended that this evidence was admissible to show that 
this woman was going to the same place as the prisoner 
and had conspired with the prisoner to rob the bank. 

Rankin replied that there was no charge against the 
prisoner for conspiracy, that the woman was not men- 
tioned in the charge, and unless it were shown that she 
was in some way connected with the prisoner in the lar- 
ceny evidence as to her conversations could not be re- 
ceived if not spoken in the prisoner’s presence. 

Rankin had no idea who this woman was or what she 
had said. He only choked off everything he could on 
general principles. 

The magistrate refused to receive as evidence the con- 
versation between her and the detective. So Rankin 
made his point, not knowing how valuable it was to his 
client. 

Detective Dearborn was much chagrined at this. He 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


341 


thought that his story, as an interesting narrative of detect- 
ive life, was quite spoiled by the omission, and he blurted 
out as a sort of “ aside ” to the spectators : 

“Well, any way, she said she was CresswelTs wife.” 

This remark created a sensation in court, as he antici- 
pated. But the magistrate rebuked him very sharply for 
it, saying : “ I would have you remember that the evi- 
dence of very zealous police officers is always sufficiently 
open to suspicion. Showing more zeal than the law allows 
to obtain a conviction does not improve your condition 
as a witness.” 

Although merited, this was a sore snub for the able de- 
tective, and it seemed quite to take the heart out of him ; 
but he afterward recovered himself as he fell to describ- 
ing what had occurred in the collision and how he had 
got on board the North Star — the sole survivor from the 
Eleusinian. In speaking of the arrest he did not say that 
he had prevented Jack from saving the life dearest on 
earth to him. He gave the truth a very unpleasant turn 
against the prisoner by saying that Jack struggled violent- 
ly to escape from the arrest and tried to throw himself 
overboard. This, of course, gave all the impression that 
he was ready to seek death rather than be captured. It 
gave a desperate aspect to his conduct, and accorded well 
with his sullen appearance in the court-room. Dearborn 
suppressed the fact that Jack had been delirious and rav- 
ing for twelve hours afterward, as this might explain hia 
present condition and cause delay. He had lost no op- 
portunity of circulating the suggestion that he was sham- 
ming insanity. 

After he had briefly described his return to Toronto 
with his prisoner, the crown attorney asked him : 

“ Did you find any articles upon his person ? ” 

“ Yes ; I took this knife away from him.” 

“ Ah, indeed ! ” said the crown attorney, taking the 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


342 

knife and examining it. “Quite a murderous - looking 
weapon.” 

“ Which will be found strapped to the back of every 
sailor that breathes,” interrupted Rankin indignantly. “ I 
hope my learned friend won’t arrest his barber for using 
razors in his daily work.” 

“ And what else did you hnd upon him ? ” asked the 
attorney, returning to the case for want of good retort. 

Detective Dearborn thought a sensation agreeable to 
himself would certainly be made by his answer : 

“ Well,” he said, with the sang froid with which de- 
tectives delight to make their best points, “ I found on 
him two of the stolen one-thousand-dollar bills — ” 

“Now, now, now !” cried Rankin, jumping to his feet 
in an instant. “You can not possibly know that of your 
own knowledge. You are getting too zealous again, Mr. 
Dearborn.” 

“ Don’t alarm yourself, my acute friend,” said the 
crown attorney, conscious that all the evidence he required 
was coming on afterward. “ We will prove the identity of 
the recovered bills to your most complete satisfaction.” 
Then, turning to the witness, he said : “Go on.” 

Dearborn, who had made the little stir he expected 
went on to explain what the other moneys were that he 
had found on Jack, and described how he found the bills 
pinned securely inside a watch-pocket of a waistcoat that 
he wore underneath his outer shirt. 

Rankin asked Dearborn only one question. There 
did not seem to be any use in resisting the matter except 
on the one point which remained to be proved. 

“ You do not pretend to identify these bills yourself ? ” 

“ No, sir, I don’t. But we’ll fix that all right for 
you,” he said, triumphantly, as he descended from the 
box. 

“The clerk in the Montreal Telegraph Company’s 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


343 


office who compared the numbers of the bills with the list 
of numbers sent from New York, then identified the two 
recovered bills beyond any doubt. He also swore that 
he personally deposited the package of bills with the re- 
ceiving teller of the Victoria Bank. 

The receiving teller swore to having received such a 
package and having handed it to Mr. Hampstead to be 
used in his department. 

Geoffrey Hampstead was recalled, and acknowledged 
receiving such a package from the other clerk. But what 
surprised everybody was that he took up the recovered 
bills and swore positively that the stolen bills were of a 
light-brown color, and not dark-green, like the ones found 
on the prisoner. 

Geoffrey had seen that the whole case depended on 
the identification of these bills. If he could break the 
evidence of the other witnesses sufficiently on this point, 
there might, he thought, be a chance of having Jack lib- 
erated. 

A peculiar thing happened here, which startled the 
dense mass of people looking on. 

The prisoner arose to his feet, and, taking hold of the 
railing to steady himself, said in a rolling, hollow voice, 
while Geoffrey was swearing that the stolen bills were of a 
light-brown color : 

Geoffrey, old man, don't tell any lies on my ac- 
count. The bills were all dark-green." Then he sat 
down again wearily. 

If there was a man in the room who until now had 
still hoped that Jack was innocent, his last clinging hope 
was dissipated by this speech. 

A deep silence prevailed for an instant, as the convic- 
tion of his guilt sank into every heart. 

Some said it was just like Geoffrey to go up and try to 
swear his friend off. They thought it was like him, inas- 


344 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


much as it was a daring stroke which was aimed at the root 
of the whole prosecution. Probably he lost few friends 
among those who thought he had perjured himself for 
this object. Those who did not think this, supposed he 
was mistaken in his recollection as to the color of the 
bills. A small special edition of a vulgar newspaper, is- 
sued an hour afterward, said : 

In this case of Regina vs. Cresswell, if Hampstead 
had been able to shake the identification of these bills no 
doubt Regina would have ‘got left.’” 

When Jack had returned to consciousness, at Port 
Dalhousie, it was only partially. He looked at the de- 
tective dreamily when informed that he had to go to To- 
ronto. He felt desperately ill and weak, and thought of 
one thing only — Nina’s death. Even that he only realized 
faintly. Mentally and bodily he was like a water-logged 
wreck that could be towed about from place to place but 
was capable in itself of doing little more than barely 
floating. When Rankin had spoken to him, before the 
trial, about getting a lawyer, he was merely conscious of 
a slight annoyance that disturbed the one weak current 
of his thought. When the magistrate had addressed him 
in the court-room, the change from the dark cell to the 
light room and the crowd of faces had nearly banished 
again the few rays of intelligence which he possessed. 
He did not know what the magistrate was saying. Vaguely 
conscious that there was some charge against him, he was 
paralyzed by a deathlike weakness which prevented his 
caring in the slightest degree what happened. When Ran- 
kin spoke incisively to him, the voice was familiar, and he 
was able to make an answer, and in the course of the trial 
gleams of intelligence came to him. The vibrations of 
Geoffrey’s well-known voice aroused him with a half-thrill 
of pleasure, and during the re-examination he had partly 
comprehended that there was some charge against him 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


345 


about these bills, and he came to the conclusion that as 
Geoffrey must have known the true color of the bills, he 
was only telling an untruth for the purpose of getting him 
off. This was as far as his intelligence climbed, and when 
he sat down again the exertion proved too much for him, 
and his mind wandered. 

Of course, after this terribly damaging remark, there 
was nothing left for Rankin to cling to. Clearly, Jack 
knew all about the bills, and had given up all hope of 
acquittal. The two other clerks were called to contradict 
Geoffrey as to the color of the bills, and with that the case 
for the prosecution closed. 

Rankin said he was as yet unprepared with any evi- 
dence for the defense. Evidence of previous good charac- 
ter could certainly be obtained in any quantity from any 
person who had ever known the prisoner, and, in any 
case, he should be allowed time to produce this evidence. 
He easily showed a number of reasons why a postpone- 
ment for a week should be granted. 

The magistrate shook his head, and then told John 
Cresswell to stand up. a 

Jack was partly hoisted up by a policeman. He stood 
holding on to the bar in front of him with his head down, 
perhaps the most guilty looking individual that had been 
in that dock for a month. 

“John Cresswell, the evidence against you in this case 
leaves no shadow of doubt in my mind that you are guilty 
of the offense charged. Your counsel has requested a 
delay in order that your defense may be more thoroughly 
gone into. I have watched your demeanor throughout 
the trial, and, although a little doubtful at first, I have 
come to the conclusion that you are shamming insanity. 
I saw you on several occasions look perfectly intelligent, 
and your remarks show that you fully understand the 
bearing of the case. I will therefore refuse to postpone 


346 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


the trial further than three o’clock this afternoon. This 
will give your counsel an opportunity to produce evidence 
of previous good character or any other evidence that he 
may wish to bring forward. Forty-eight thousand dollars 
of the stolen money are still missing, and, so far, I cer- 
tainly presume that you know where that large sum of 
money is secreted. Unless the aspect of the case be 
changed by further evidence sentence will be passed on 
you this afternoon, and I wish to tell you now that if, in 
the mean time, you make restitution of the money, such 
action on your part may materially affect the sentence I 
shall pass upon you.” 

The magistrate was going on to say : “ I will adjourn 
the court now until three o’clock,” when he perceived that 
Jack, who was still standing, was speaking to him and 
looking at him vacantly. What Jack said while his head 
swayed about drunkenly was this : 

“ If you’ll let me off this watch now I’ll do double time 
to-morrow, governor. I never was sea-sick before, but I 
must turn in for a while, for I can’t stand without holding 
on to something.” 

Nobody knew what to make of this except Detective 
Dearborn, who had possessed all along the clew to his dis- 
tressing condition. But what did the detective care for 
his condition ? John Cresswell was black with guilt. The 
fact of his being ‘‘ cut up ” because a woman got drowned 
did not change his guilt. He and that deuced fine woman 
were partners in this business, and forty-eight thousand 
had gone to the bottom of the lake in her pocket. The 
detective could not forgive himself for not allowing Jack 
to try and save the girl. The girl herself was no object, 
but it would have fetched things out beautifully as a cul- 
mination of detective work to bring her back also — along 
with the money. Forty-eight and two would make fifty, 
and if the bank could not afford to give away one in con- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


347 

sideration of getting back the forty-nine — Bah ! he knew 
his mad thirst to hold his prey had made him a fool. 

Was it the formation of his jaw ? They say a bull-dog 
is not the best fighter, because he will not let go his first 
grip in order to take a better one. 

The court-room was empty in five minutes after the 
adjournment, and a couple of the “Vies” followed Jack 
down-stairs. Rankin went down also and was going to 
get Jack some stimulant, but he found the bank fellows 
ahead of him. One of them had got a pint of “ fizz,” 
another had procured from the neighboring restaurant 
some oysters and a small flask of brandy. 

These young men were beautiful in the matter of 
stand-up collars, their linen was chaste and extensive, 
and their clothes ornamental, but they could stick to a 
friend. The language of these young men, who showed 
such a laxity in moral tone as to attempt to refresh an 
undoubted criminal, was ordinarily almost too correct, but 
now they were profane. Every one of them had been fond 
of Jack, and their sympathy was greater than their self- 
control. For once they forgot to be respectable, and were 
cursing to keep themselves from showing too much feel- 
ing — a phase not uncommon. 

Rankin saw Jack take some brandy and that afterward 
he was able to peck at the oysters. Then he walked off 
to No. 173 Tremaine Buildings to think out what had best 
be done and to have a solitary piece of bread and butter, 
and perhaps a cup of tea, if Mrs. Priest’s stove happened 
to have a fire in it. 


348 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

So Justice, while she winks at crimes, 

Stumbles on innocence sometimes. 

Hudibras. 

He who is false to present duty breaks a thread in the loom, and will 
find the flaw when he may have forgotten its cause. — Henry Ward 
Beecher. 

About two o’clock on this day of the trial, when Geof- 
frey and all the rest of the bank-clerks were hurrying 
through their work in order to get out to attend the police 
court, Mr. Dearborn came in unexpectedly, and talked to 
Hampstead for a while. He said that the prisoner Cress- 
well was very ill, perhaps dying, and had begged him to go 
and bring Geoffrey to see him — if only for a moment. 

“ All right,” said Hampstead, “ Til speak to the man- 
ager about going, and will then drop over with you.” 

He did so, and they walked to the police station to- 
gether. They descended into the basement, and Mr. 
Dearborn unlocked a cell which was very dark inside. 

“You’ll find him in there,” said the detective. “I’ll 
have to keep the door locked, of course, while you are 
with him.” 

Geoffrey entered, and the door was locked on the out- 
side. He looked around the cell, and then a fear struck 
him. He turned coolly to the detective, who was still 
outside the bars, and said : “You have brought me to the 
wrong cell. Cresswell is not in this one.” 

“Well, the fact is,” said Mr. Dearborn, “a warrant 
was just now placed in my hands for your arrest, and, as 
they say you are particularly good both at running and 
the manly art, I thought a little stratagem might work the 
thing in nice, quiet shape.” 

“Just so,” said Hampstead, laughing. “ Perhaps you 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


349 


are right. I don’t think you could catch me if I got 
started. Who issued the warrant, and what is it about?” 

Here is the warrant. You are entitled to see it. An 
information was laid, and that’s all I know about it. 
You’ll be called up in court in a few minutes, and I must 
leave you now — to look after some other business.” 

At three o’clock, when the court-room was packed 
almost to suffocation, the magistrate mounted the bench, 
and Cresswell was brought up and remanded until the 
next morning. The spectators were much disappointed 
at not hearing the termination of the matter, but their in- 
terest revived as they heard the magistrate say, Bring 
in the other prisoner.” 

A dead silence followed, broken only by the measured 
tread of men’s feet in the corridor outside. The double 
doors opened, and there appeared Geoffrey Hampstead 
handcuffed and accompanied by four huge policemen. In 
ten minutes, any person in the court could easily sell his 
standing-room at a dollar and a half a stand, or upward. 

There was no hang-dog look about Geoffrey. His crest 
was high. It was surprising to see how dignified a man 
could appear in handcuffs. Suppressed indignation was 
so vividly stamped upon his face that all gained the idea 
that the gentleman was suffering an outrage. As he ap- 
proached the dock, one of his guards laid his hand on 
his arm. Hampstead stopped short and turned to the 
policeman as if he would eat him : 

“ Take your hand off my arm ! ” he rasped out. The 
man did so in a hurry, and the spectators were impressed 
by the incident. 

A charge about the fifty thousand dollars was read out 
to Geoffrey, similar to that in the Cresswell case, That he 
did, etc. — on, etc. — at, etc. — feloniously, etc. — and all the 
rest of it. 

Now Hampstead did not see how, when he was appar- 


350 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


ently innocent, and another man practically convicted, 
he could possibly be thought guilty also. The case against 
Cresswell had been so complete that it was. impossible for 
any one to doubt his guilt. Hampstead knew also that if 
he were tried once now and acquitted, he never could be 
tried again for the same offense. He had been fond of 
talking to Rankin about criminal law, and on some points 
was better posted than most men. He did not know 
whether Jack would be well enough to give evidence to- 
day, if at aF, and if, for want of proof or otherwise, the 
case against him failed now, he would be safe forever. 
Jack might recover soon, and then the case would be 
worse if he told all he knew. He did not engage a lawyer, 
as this might seem as if he were doubtful and needed 
assistance. He was, he thought, quite as well able to see 
loopholes of escape as a lawyer would be, so long as they 
did not depend on technicalities. Altogether he had de- 
cided, after his arrest and after careful thought, to take 
his trial at once. 

He elected to be tried before a police magistrate, said 
he was ready for trial, and pleaded “ not guilty.” 

About this time the manager of the Victoria Bank, who 
was very much astonished and hurt at the proceedings 
taken against Geoffrey, leaned over and asked the county 
attorney if he had much evidence against Mr. Hampstead. 
The poor manager was beginning almost to doubt his own 
honesty. Every person seemed guilty in this matter. As 
for Jack and Hampstead, he would have previously been 
quite ready to have sworn to his belief in their honesty. 

“ My dear sir,” replied the county attorney, I don’t 
know anything about it. Mr. Rankin came flying down 
in a cab, saw the prisoner Cresswell, swore out a warrant, 
had Mr. Hampstead arrested, sent the detectives flying 
about in all directions, and that’s all I know about it. He 
is running the entire show himself.” 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


351 

** Indeed ! ” said the manager. “ I shall never be sur- 
prised at anything again, after to-day.” 

Nobody knew but Rankin himself what was coming- 
on. Several detectives had had special work allotted to 
them, but this was all they knew, and the small lawyer 
sat with apparent composure until it was time to call his 
first witness. 

Mr. St. George Le Mesurier Hector Northcote was the 
first witness called, and his fashionable outfit created some 
amusement among the “ unwashed.” Rankin, with a cer- 
tain malignity, made him give his name in full, which, to- 
gether with his affected utterance, interested those who 
were capable of smiling. 

After some formal questions, Rankin unrolled a parcel, 
shook out a waistcoat with a large pattern on it, and hand- 
ed it to the witness. 

“ Did you ever see that waistcoat before } ” 

“ Oh, yes. It belongs to Mr. Hampstead. At least it 
used to belong to him.” 

“ When did you see it last ? ” 

“ Up in his rooms a few evenings ago.” 

“ That was the night of the day the fifty thousand dol- 
lars was stolen from the bank } ” 

“Yes.” 

“ What did you do with it then ? ” 

“ I took it out of his bedroom closet to give to a poor 
boy.” 

“ Why did you do that } ” 

“ I thought it was a kindness to Mr. Hampstead to take 
that very dreadful waistcoat away from him. I took this 
and a number of other garments to give to the boy.” 

“ You were quite generous that night ! Did Mr. Hamp- 
stead object ? ” 

“ Object ? Oh, no ! I should have said that he took 
them from me and gave them to the boy himself.” 


352 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


“ Now, why were you so generous with Mr. Hamp- 
stead’s clothes, and why should he consent to give them to 
the boy.?” 

This was getting painful for Sappy. His manager was 
standing, as he said, plumb in front of him. 

“Well, if I must tell unpleasant things,” said Sappy, 
“ the boy was sent out that evening to get us a little wine, 
and I thought giving him that waistcoat would be a satis- 
faction to all parties.” 

“You were perfectly right. You have given a great 
deal of satisfaction to a great many people. So Mr. 
Hampstead was entertaining his friends that night?” 

“Yes. We dined with him at the club that evening, 
and adjourned afterward to his rooms to have a little 
music.” 

Ah! Just so. Seeing how pleasantly things had been 
going in the bank that day, and that his particular friend 
Cresswell had decamped with fifty thousand dollars, Mr. 
Hampstead was celebrating the occasion. Now, I suppose 
that, taking in the cost of the dinners and the wine — or 
rather, excuse me — the music^ and all the rest of it, you 
got the impression that Mr. Hampstead had a good deal 
of money that night ? ” 

“ That’s none of your business,” said Sappy, firing up. 
“ Mr. Hampstead spends his money like a gentleman. I 
suppose he did spend a good deal that night, and generally 
does.” 

“Very good,” said Rankin. 

He then went on to ask questions about Hampstead’s 
salary and his probable expenses, but perhaps this was to 
kill time, for he kept looking toward the door, as if he ex- 
pected somebody to come in. Finally he let poor Sappy 
depart in peace, after making him show beyond any doubt 
that Geoffrey wore this waistcoat at the time of the theft 
at the bank — that the garment was old fashioned, and that 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


353 

it had seemed peculiar that Hampstead, a man of some 
fashion, should be wearing it. 

Patsey Priest w'as now called, and he slunk in from an 
adjoining room, in company with a policem.an. He had a 
fixed impression in his mind that Geoffrey was his prose- 
cutor, and that he was going to be charged with stealing 
liquors, cigars, tobacco, and clothes. He was prepared to 
prove his innocence of all these crimes, but he trembled 
visibly. His mother had put his oldest clothes upon him, 
as poverty, she thought, might prove a good plea before 
the day was out. The difference between his garments 
and those of the previous witness was striking. His skin, 
as seen through the holes in his apparel, suggested how, by 
mere laches^ real estate could become personalty. 

“Where were you on Wednesday night last, about one 
or two o’clock in the evening ? ” 

“ I wus in Mr. ’Ampstead’s rooms part of the time.” 

“ Did you ever see that waistcoat before ? ” 

“ Yes, I did, and he gev it to me, so help me on four- 
teen Bibles, as I kin prove by five or six gents right in 
front of me over there, and its altogether wrong ye are 
fur to try and fix it on to a poor boy as has to get his 
livin’ honest and support his mother, and her a widder — ” 
“ Stop, stop ! ” called Rankin. “ Did you get this other 
waistcoat at the same time 1 ” 

“Yes, I did, an’ a lot more besides, an’ I tuk them all 
up and gev them to me mother just the same as I gives 
her all me w^ages and the hull of the clothes an’ more be- 
sides give me fur goin’ round to the Rah-seen House fur 
to buy the drinks — ” 

“ That will do, that will do,” interrupted Rankin. 
“ You can go.” 

“ Faith, I knew ye’d hev to discharge me, fur I’m as 
innercent as y’are yerself.” 

Mrs. Priest was called. 


23 


354 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


She came in with more assurance now, as she had be- 
come convinced, from seeing Hampstead in the dock and 
guarded by the police, that the matter in question did not 
refer to her consumption of coal, or her legal right to 
perquisites. 

“ Mrs. Priest, did you ever see that waistcoat before ? ” 
said Rankin. 

‘‘ See it before ! Didn’t you take it out of me own 
hands not two hours ago ? What are ye after, man ? ” 

Rankin explained that the magistrate wished to know 
all about it. 

‘‘Well, I’ll tell his lordship the hull story : Ye see, yer 
’anor, the boy gets the clothes from Mr. Geoffrey and brings 
them up to me last Wednesday night begone and says 
they was give to him, an’ the next day I wus lookin’ 
through them, and I thought I’d sell this weskit becas the 
patthern is a thrifle large for a child, an’ I puts me ’and 
into these ’ere pockets on the inside an’ I pulls out a 
paper — ” 

“ Stop ! Is this the paper you found ? ” 

“Yes, that’s it; ’an I thought it might be of some use, 
as it hed figures on it and writin’. An’ I says to Mr. 
Renkin, when he come into my room to-day fur to get a 
cup — ” 

“ Never mind what I came in for,” said Rankin, color- 
ing. 

“ An’ I says to Mr. Rankin, sez I, ‘ Is this paper any 
use, do you think, to Mr. ’Ampstead.’ An’ he looks at it 
awful hard and sez, ‘ Where did yer get it ? ’ An’ then I 
ups and told him (for I wus quite innercent, and so wus 
the boy) that I had got it out of the weskit — out of these 
’ere inside pockets. An’ then I shows him that other 
weskit an’ how the lining of one weskit had been cut out 
and sewn onter the other — as anybody can see as com- 
pares the two — an’ I never saw any weskit with four long 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


355 

pockets on the inside before, an’ I wondered what they 
wus fur. 

“ An’ I hedn’t got the words out of me mouth before 
Mr. Renkin turned as white as the drippin’ snow and 
says, ‘ My God ! ’ an’ he grabs the two weskits widout me 
leave or license, an’ also the paper, an’ I thought he’d 
break his neck down the stairs in the dark. An’ that’s 
all I know about it until the cops brought me and the 
child here in the hack, after we put on our best clothes fur 
to be decent to answer to the charge before yer lordship ; 
an’ if that’s all yer lordship wants ter know, I’d like to axe 
yer lordship if there’ll be anythin’ cornin’ to me fur cornin’ 
down here widout resistin’ the cops?” 

As Rankin finished with Mrs. Priest, the police magis- 
trate reminded the prisoner that he had the right to cross- 
examine the witness. 

Hampstead smiled, and said he had no doubt all she 
said was true. 

Rankin then read the marks on the piece of paper. It 
was a longish slip of paper, about three inches wide, and 
had been cut off from a large sheet of office letter-paper. 
There had been printing at the top of this sheet when it 
was entire. On the piece cut off still remained the print- 
ed words ‘‘Western Union.” On the opposite side of the 
paper, which seemed to have been used as a wrapper and 
fastened with a pin, were the figures, in blue pencil, 
“$50,000,” and, below, a direction or memorandum: 
“ For Mont. Teleg. Co’y. Toronto.” These words had 
had a pen passed through them. 

The excitement caused by this evidence was in- 
creased when Hampstead arose and requested to be 
allowed to withdraw his consent to be tried before the 
magistrate. 

“ I see,” he said, smiling, “ that my friend Mr. Rankin 
has been led astray by some facts which can be thoroughly 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


356 

well explained. But I must have time and opportunity to 
get such evidence as I require.” 

The magistrate rather sternly replied that he had con- 
sented to bis trial to-day, and said he was ready for trial, 
and that the request for a change would be refused. The 
trial must go on. 

The Montreal Telegraph clerk was then called, and 
identified the wrapper as the one that had been around 
the stolen fifty thousand dollars. He had run his pen 
through the written words before depositing the money in 
the Victoria Bank. He again identified by their numbers 
the two one-thousand dollar bills found on Jack, and he 
was then told to stand down until again required. 

The receiving teller of the bank could not swear pos- 
itively to the wrapper. He remembered that there had 
been a paper around the bills with blue writing on it, which 
he thought he had not removed when counting the bills. 

Rankin then requested the police to bring in John 
Cresswell. 

Want of proper nourishment had had much to do with 
Jack’s mental weakness. Besides the exhaustion which he 
had suffered from, he had not, until his friends looked after 
him, eaten or drunk anything for over forty hours. He 
had neglected the food brought him by the police. 

As the constable half supported him to the box, he 
was still a pitiable object, in spite of the champagne the fel- 
lows had made him swallow. As his bodily strength had 
come back under stimulant, his intellect had returned also 
with proportional strength, which of course was not great. 
His ideas as to what was going on were of the vaguest 
kind. He looked surprised to see Geoffrey in custody, 
but smiled across the room to him and nodded. 

After he was sworn, Rankin asked him : 

“ You went away last Wednesday on a schooner called 
the North Star ? ” 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


357 


“Yes.” 

“ Did any person tell you to go in this way, instead of 
by steamer or railway ? ” 

“ I think it was Geoffrey’s suggestion at first. I had 
to go away on private business, I think we arranged the 
manner of my going together.” 

“ Did any person tell you to take your valises to the 
yacht club early on Wednesday morning?.” 

“ I think it was Hampstead’s idea originally, and I 
thought it was a good one.” 

“ You wished to go away secretly ? ” 

“Well, we discussed that point. I was going by rail, 
but Hampstead thought the schooner was best.” 

“ You evidently did everything he told you ? ” 

“ Certainly, I did,” said Jack, as he smiled across to 
Geoffrey. “ Hampstead has the best head for manage- 
ment I know of.” 

“Quite so. No doubt about that! Now, since the 
accident to the boats in the lake some bills were found 
upon you. Are those your bills ? ” (producing them). 

“Yes, they look like my bills. The seven one-hundred 
dollars I got myself, and the two for one thousand each I 
got — ” Jack stopped here and looked troubled. He 
looked across at Geoffrey ii,nd remained silent. It came 
to him for the first time that Hampstead was being charged 
with something that had gone wrong in the bank about 
this money. 

The magistrate said sharply “ I wish to know where 
you got that money. You will be good enough to answer 
without delay.” 

Jack looked worried. “ My money was all in small- 
ish bills, and either Geoffrey or I (I forget which) sug- 
gested that I had better take these two American one- 
thousand-dollar bills, as they would be smaller in my 
pocket. He slipped these two out of a package of 


358 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


bills which I imagine were all of the same denomina- 
tion.’* 

Rankin evidently was wishing to spin out the time, for 
he glanced at the side door whenever it was opened. 

He went on asking questions and showing that Geoffrey 
had been at the bottom of everything, and in the mean 
time three men appeared in the room, and one of them 
handed Rankin a parcel. 

“ During your trial this morning I think I heard you 
say that the bills you saw on Hampstead’s desk were all 
dark-green colored ? ” 

“ I think they were all the same color as these two. 
He ran his finger over them as he drew these two out.” 

“ I have some money here,” said Rankin. “ Does this 
package look anything like the one you then saw.** ” 

“ I could not swear to it. It looks like it.” 

Even the magistrate was excited now. The news had 
flown through the business part of the city that Geoffrey 
Hampstead had been arrested and was on trial for steal- 
ing the fifty thousand dollars. The news stirred men as if 
the post-office had been blown up with dynamite. The 
court-room was jammed. When word had been passed 
outside that things looked bad for Hampstead, as much as 
five dollars was paid by a broker for standing room in the 
court. It had also become known that Maurice Rankin 
had caused the arrest to be made himself, and that nobody 
but he knew what could be proved. People thought at 
first that the bank authorities were forcing the prosecu- 
tion, and wondered that they had not employed an older 
man. The fact that this young sprig, professionally un- 
known, had assumed the entire responsibility himself, gave 
a greater interest to the proceedings. 

The magistrate leaned over his desk and asked 
quietly : 

“ What money is that you have there, Mr. Rankin ? ” 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


359 

Maurice’s naturally incisive voice sounded like a bell 
in the death-like stillness of the court-room. 

“ These,” he said, “ are what I will prove to be the 
forty-eight thousand-dollar bills stolen from the bank.” 

The pent-up excitement could be restrained no longer. 
A sound, half cheer and half yell, filled the room. 

Rankin had not been idle after he left Mrs. Priest that 
day. He first went in a cab to Jack, and simply asked 
him if Geoftrey had worn the large* patterned waistcoat on 
the day he went away. Jack remembered hearing Sappy 
talking about his wearing it. Rankin then drove to the 
Montreal Telegraph clerk, who identified the wrapper. 
Then he had the warrant issued for Hampstead’s arrest, 
and also subpoenas, which were handed to different police- 
men for service, with instructions to bring the witnesses 
with them if possible. The Priests, mother and son, he 
secured by having a constable bring them in a cab. He 
then requested the magistrate to hear the case at once. 

He supposed, rightly enough, that Hampstead, on be- 
coming aware that the numbers of the stolen bills were all 
known would be afraid to pass any of them, and would 
still have the money somewhere in his possession. So he 
had three detectives sent with a search warrant to break in 
Geoffrey’s door and search for it. He thought it was by 
no means certain that they would find the money, and he 
was anxious on this point, but he knew that, even if he 
failed to secure a conviction against Hampstead, he had 
at least sufficient evidence to render Jack’s conviction 
doubtful. In the case against Hampstead, Jack’s evidence 
would be heard in full, and Rankin felt satisfied that in 
some way it would explain away the terribly damaging 
case that had been made out against him in the morning. 

The sudden shout in the court had been so full of 
sympathy for Jack and admiration for Rankin’s cleverness 
that for the first time in his magisterial existence His 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


360 

Worship ” forgot to check it, and the call to order by the 
police was of the weakest kind. All the bank-clerks of 
the city were jammed into that room, and for a moment 
Jack's friends were wild. 

A few more questions were put to Jack, but only to 
improve his position before the public as to the charge 
against himself. 

“ Are you aware that you have been made a victim of 
in a matter where the Victoria Bank was robbed of fifty 
thousand dollars ? ” 

“ No,” said Jack, looking dazed. “ I am not.” 

“ Are you aware that you were tried this morning for 
stealing that money ? ” 

“ I seemed at times to know that something was wrong. 
Once I knew I was charged with stealing something or 
other, but I did not know or care. I must have been un- 
conscious after the collision in the lake. The first thing 
I knew of, they said we were at Port Dalhousie. We must 
have sailed there with nothing dravv^ing but the forward 
canvas, and that must have taken a good while.” 

Jack was now allowed to stand down, but he was not 
removed from the court-room. 

To clear up Jack’s record thoroughly, Rankin called 
Detective Dearborn and, before the magistrate stopped 
the examination as being irrelevant, he succeeded in show- 
ing that Jack had been delirious for twelve hours after his 
arrest. The fact that Dearborn had not mentioned these 
circumstances placed him in a rather bad light with the 
audience, while it showed once again what a common habit 
it is with the police to suppress and even distort facts in 
order to secure a conviction. 

The telegraph clerk identified the recovered forty-eight 
bills, and the receiving teller gave the same evidence as in 
the Cresswell case, and then the detective who found the 
money in Hampstead’s room was called. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


361 

As soon as he heard his first words, Geoffrey knew 
what was coming and rose to his feet and addressed the 
magistrate : 

“ I suppose, Your Worship, that it is not too late to 
withdraw my plea of not guilty and at this late hour 
plead guilty. This will be my only opportunity to cast a 
full light on this case, and, if I may be permitted, I will 
do so.” 

The magistrate nodded. Geoffrey continued : 

“ Of course, it is perfectly clear that Cresswell is quite 
innocent. For private reasons, in a matter that was en- 
tirely honorable to himself, Cresswell wished to leave Can- 
ada. He was going through the States to. California, and 
did not intend to return, and would have resisted being 
brought back to Canada. There was no law existing by 
which he could be extradited. He could only be brought 
back by his own consent. From the way I sent him on 
the schooner, his arrest before arriving in the United 
States was in the highest degree improbable. If he had 
afterward been arrested in the States I could have at once 
arranged to be sent by the bank to persuade him to return. 
I had it all planned that he never should return. He would 
have done as I told him. Even if he insisted on coming 
back I then would be safe in the States. Of course, I did 
not know that identification could be made of the bills — 
which could not have been foreseen — and my object in 
giving him two of them was that suspicion would rest tem- 
porarily on him, which might be necessary to give me time 
to escape. As it turned out, if Cresswell had insisted on 
returning to Canada he would be returning to certain con- 
viction-part of the identified money being found on him. 

“ So far I speak only of my intentions at the time of 
the theft. But I hope no one will think I would allow my 
old friend Jack Cresswell to go to jail under sentence for 
my misdeeds. To-night I intended to cross the lake in a 


362 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


small boat and then telegraph to the bank where to find 
all the money at my chambers. This, with a letter of ex- 
planation, would have acquitted Jack. I had to save him 
— also myself, from imprisonment ; but there was another 
matter worth far more than the money to me which I hoped 
to be able to eventually make right. If I had got away 
to-night the bank would have hM its money to-morrow. 

“ On the day before the theft I had lost all my twelve 
years’ earnings and profits in speculation. If I had been 
able to hold my stocks until the evening of the theft I 
would have made over seventy-five thousand dollars. For 
weeks during the excitement preceding my loss I had 
been drinking a. great deal, and when the chance came to 
recoup myself from the bank I seemed to take the money 
almost as a matter of right.” 

As Geoffrey continued he was looking up out of the 
window, evidently oblivious of the crowd about him, 
thinking the thing out, as if confessing to himself. 

“ I know that without the liquor I never would have 
stolen, and that with it I became — ” 

His face grew bitter as he thought of his thieving Tar- 
tar uncle and his mother who could not be prevented 
from stealing. But he pulled himself together and con- 
tinued : “ It would have been open to me to call men 
from this gathering to give evidence as to my previous 
character, and I have no hesitation in leaving this point 
in your hands if it will do anything to shorten my sen- 
tence. On this ground only am I entitled to ask for your 
consideration, and you will be doing a kindness if you will 
pass sentence at once.” 

As Hampstead said these words he looked abstractedly 
around for the last time upon the scores of former friends 
who now averted their faces. There was no bravado in 
his appearance. He held himself erect, as he always did, 
and his face was impenetrable. His eyes claimed ac- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


363 

quaintance with none who met his glance. Some smiled 
faintly, impressed as they were with his bearing, but he 
seemed to look into them and past them, as if saying to 
himself : “ There’s Brown, and there’s Jones, and there’s 
Robinson, I wonder when I will ever see them again ? ” 

There were men in that throng who knew, when Hamp- 
stead spoke of the effects of the liquor on him, exactly 
what was meant, who knew from personal experience that, 
if there is any devilish tendency in a man or any hered- 
itary predisposition to any kind of wrong-doing, alcohol 
will bring it out, and these men could not refrain from 
some sympathy with him who had partly explained his 
fall, and somehow there were none who thought after 
Geoffrey’s statement that he would have sacrificed Jack 
to imprisonment under sentence. 

The magistrate addressed him : 

“ Geoffrey Hampstead, I do not think there has been 
anything against your character since you came to Toron- 
to. That an intelligence such as yours should have been 
prostituted to the uses to which you have put it is one of 
the most melancholy things that ever came to my knowl- 
edge. I can not think you belong to the criminal classes, 
and I would be glad to be out of this matter altogether, 
because I feel how unable one may be to deal for the best 
with a case like yours. It may be that if you were liber- 
ated you would never risk your ruin again. I do not think 
you would ; but, in that case, this court might as well be 
closed and the police disbanded. I am compelled to make 
your case exemplary, and I sentence you to six years in 
the Kingston Penitentiary.” 

A dead silence followed, and then his former friends 
and acquaintances began to go away. They went away 
quietly, not looking at each other. There was something 
in the proceedings of the day that silenced them. They 
had lost faith in one honest man and had found it again ; 


3^4 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


and another, on whom some nobility was stamped, they 
had seen condemned as a convict. As they took their 
last look at the man whom they had often envied and ad- 
mired, they wished to escape observation. So many of 
them were thinking how, at such a time in their lives, if 
things had not luckily turned out as they did, they, too, 
might have fallen under some kind of temptation, and they 
knew the sympathy that comes from secret consciousness 
of what their own possibilities in guilt might have been. 

Geoffrey received his sentence looking out of the win- 
dow toward the blue sky and the swallows that flew past. 
Every word that the magistrate had said had in it the tone 
of a friend, which made it harder to bear. While he heard 
it all vividly, he strained to keep his attention on the fly- 
ing swallows in order that he might not break down. Out- 
side of that window, and just in that direction, Margaret, 
the wife that never w'ould be, was waiting for him. The 
man’s face was like ashes. Oh, the relief to have dashed 
himself upon the floor when he thought of Margaret ! 

Yet he held out. He felt it would be better for him 
to be dead ; but he met his fate bravely, and now sought 
relief in another way. He caught Rankin’s eye, and mo- 
tioned to him to come near. 

With a face that was afraid to relax its tension, he 
said, with an effort at something like his ordinary speech : 

“ Rankin, you forsook me sadly to-day, did you not ? 
But I can still count on you to do me a good turn — if only 
in return for to-day.” 

‘‘Go on, Geoffrey. Yes, I have disliked you from the 
first. But now I don’t. You make people like you, no 
matter what you do. You take it like a man. What do 
you want ? ” 

Rankin could not command his countenance as Geof- 
frey could. Now that he had accomplished the work of 
convicting him, it seemed terrible that one who, with all 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 365 

his faults, appeared so manly a man, and so brave, should 
be on his way to six years’ darkness. 

Geoffrey pulled him closer and whispered in his ear : 

Go to Margaret — at once — before she can read anything ! 
Take a cab. Tell her all. Break it to her. You can 
put it gently. Go to her now — let her know, fairly, before 
you come away, that all my chances are gone — that she is 
released — that I am nothing — now — but a dead man.” 

His head went down as the words were finished with 
a wild effort, and his great frame shook convulsively for 
a moment. The thought of Margaret killed him. 

During the day, before his arrest, he had seen that he 
would have to return at least part of the money to corrob- 
orate his story and to save Jack. And he could not ab- 
scond with the balance, because that would mean the loss 
of Margaret. By returning the money and saving himself 
from imprisonment, he had hoped that eventually she 
would forgive him. And now — 

Maurice could not stand it. He said, hurriedly : All 
right. I’ll see you to-morrow.” And then he dashed 
off, out a side door, and into a cab. And on the way to 
Margaret he wept like a child behind the carriage curtains 
for the fate of the man whom he had convicted. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Yea, it becomes a man 
To cherish memory, where he had delight, 

For kindness is the natural birth of kindness. 

Whose soul records not the great debt of joy, 

Is stamped forever an ignoble man. 

Sophocles { Ajax ). 

As Rankin broke the news to Margaret — by degrees 
and very quietly — she showed but little sign of feeling. 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


366 

Her face whitened and she moved stiffly to the open 
window, where she could sit in the draught. As she made 
Rankin tell her the whole story she simply grew stony, 
while she sat with bloodless hands clinched together, as if 
she thus clutched at her soul to save it from the madness 
of a terrible grief. 

Suddenly she interrupted him. 

“ Dismiss your cab,” she said. “ I will walk back with 
you part of the way.” 

When she turned toward him, the strained face was so 
white and the eyes so wide and expressionless that he be- 
came afraid. 

“ Perhaps you would rather be alone,” said he, doubt- 
ful about letting her go into the street. 

She seemed to divine what was in his mind, for she 
made him feel more at ease by a gentler tone : 

“ Alone ? No, no ! Anything but that ! The walk 
will do me good.” 

The cab was dismissed while she put on her hat, and 
as they walked through the quiet streets toward the heart 
of the city, he went on with all the particulars, which she 
seemed determined to hear. Several times they met peo- 
ple who knew her and knew of her engagement to Hamp- 
stead, and they were surprised to see her walking with — 
of all men — Maurice Rankin. But she saw no one, gaz- 
ing before her with the look which means madness if the 
mind be not diverted. Suddenly, as they had to cross one 
of the main arteries of the city, a sound fell upon Mar- 
garet’s ear that made her stop and grasp Rankin by the 
arm. Then the cry came again — from a boy running 
toward them along the street : 

“ Special edition of the Evening News ! All about 
Geoffrey Hampstead, the bank robber ! ” 

For a moment her grasp came near tearing a piece out 
of Rankin’s arm. But this was only when the blow struck 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 36^ 

her. She stopped the boy and bought a paper. She gave 
him half a dollar and walked on. 

“ This will do to give them at home,” she said simply. 

I could not tell them myself.” 

But the blow was too much for her. To hear the name 
of the man she worshiped yelled through the streets as a 
bank robber’s was more than she felt able to bear. She 
must get home now. Another experience of this kind, 
and something would happen. 

“ Good-by ! ” she said, as she stopped abruptly at the 
corner of a street. Not a vestige of a tear had been 
seen in her eyes. I will go home now. You have been 
very kind. I forgive you for — ” 

She turned quickly, and Rankin stood and watched 
her as she passed rapidly away. 

No. 173 Tremaine Buildings had become slightly better 
furnished since the opening of this story. Between the 
time when he made the cruise in the Ideal and the events 
recorded in the preceding chapters, Rankin had con- 
tributed somewhat to his comforts in an inexpensive way. 
In order to buy his coal, which he did now with much 
satisfaction, he had still to practice the strictest economy. 
But he took some pleasure in his solitary existence. 
From time to time he bought different kinds of preserves 
sold in pressed-glass goblets and jugs of various sizes. 
After the jam was consumed the prize in glassware would 
be washed by Mrs. Priest and added to his collection, 
and there was a keen sense of humor in him when he 
added each terrible utensil to his stock. ” A poor thing 
— but mine own ! ” he would quote, as he bowed to an 
imaginary audience and pointed with apologetic pride to 
a hideous pressed-glass butter-bolt. 

In buying packages of dusty, doctored, and detest- 
able tea he acquired therewith a collection of gift-spoons 


358 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


of different sizes, and also knives, forks, and plates, which, 
if not tending to develop a taste for high art, were useful. 
At a certain “ seven-cent store ” he procured, for the pre- 
vailing price, articles in tinware, the utility of which was 
out of all proportion to the cost. 

Thus, when he sat down of an evening and surveyed a 
packing-box filled with several sacks of coal, all paid for ; 
when he viewed the collection of glassware, the “ family 
plate,” and the very desirable cutlery ; when he gazed with 
pride upon his seven-cent treasures and his curtains of 
chintz at ten cents a mile ; when he considered that all 
these were his very own, his sense of having possessions 
made him less communistic and more conservative. Primi- 
tively, a Conservative was a being who owned something, 
just as Darwin’s chimpanzee in the “ Zoo,” who discov- 
ered how to break nuts with a stone and hid the stone, 
was a Tory ; the other monkeys who stole it were neces- 
sarily Reformers. 

About ten o’clock on the evening of the trial Rankin 
was sitting among his possessions sipping some “ gift- 
spoon ” tea. Around him were three evening papers and 
two special editions. The “ startling developments ” and 
“ unexpected changes ” which had transpired ” at the 
Victoria Bank had made the special editions sell off like 
cheap peaches, and Rankin was enjoying the weakness — 
pardonable in youth and not unknown to maturity — of 
reading each paper’s account of himself and the trial. 
They spoke of his ^‘acuteness ” and “foresight,” and com- 
mented on his being the sole means of recovering the 
forty-eight thousand dollars. One paper must certainly 
have jumped at a conclusion when it called him “ a well- 
known and promising young lawyer — one of the rising 
men at the bar.” 

“ The tide has turned,” he said. “ Twenty cents a 
day is not going to cover my total expenses after this. I 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


369 

feel it in my bones that the money will come pouring in 
now.*’ He was mechanically filling a pipe when a rap at 
the door recalled him from his dream. A tall Scotchman, 
whom Rankin recognized as the messenger of the Victoria 
Bank, handed him a letter and then felt around for the 
stairs in the darkness, and descended backward, on his 
hands and knees, for fear of accidents. 

A pleasing letter from the manager of the Victoria 
Bank inclosed one of the recovered thousand-dollar bills. 

Rankin sat down. I shall never,” he said, with an 
air of resolve, “ steal any more coal ! And now I’ll have 
a cigar, three for a quarter, and blow the expense ! ” 

Two weeks afterward there came to him a copy of a 
resolution passed by the bank directors, together with a 
notification that they had arranged with the bank solici- 
tors, Messrs. Godlie, Lobbyer, Dertewercke, and Toylor, 
to have him taken in as a junior partner. 

Immediately after Geoffrey was sentenced, Jack Cress- 
well was, of course, discharged. A dozen hands were 
being held out to congratulate him, when Detective Dear- 
born drew him through a side door into an empty room, 
where they had a short talk about keeping the name of 
Nina Lindon from the public, and then they departed 
together for Tremaine Buildings in a cab, while the two 
valises in front looked, like their owner, none the better 
for their vicissitudes. Dearborn felt that little could be 
said to mend the trouble he had caused Jack, but he did 
all he could, and there was certainly nothing hard-hearted 
in the care with which the redoubtable detective assisted 
his former victim to bed. Mrs. Priest was summoned, 
also a doctor. Jack was found to be worse than he 
thought, and Patsey was ordered to remain within call in 
the next room, where he consumed cigars at twelve dollars 
the hundred throughout the night. 

24 


370 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


The next day Mrs. Mackintosh and Margaret came 
down in a cab to Jack’s lonely quarters, and insisted upon 
his being moved to their house during his illness. While 
unable to go home to his parents at Halifax he was loath 
to give trouble to his friends, and made excuses, until he 
saw that Margaret really wished him to come, and divined 
that his coming might be a relief to her. 

It was so. In the weeks that followed, whatever these 
two suffered in the darkness and solitude of the nights, 
during the day-time they were brave. The heart of each 
knew its own bitterness. In a short time Jack found the 
comfort of speech in telling Margaret many things. Un- 
avoidably Geoffrey’s name came up, for he was entangled 
in both their lives. Little by little Jack’s story came out, 
as he lay back weakly on his couch, until, warmed by 
Margaret’s sympathy, he told her all about Nina and him- 
self — so far as he knew the story — and in the presence of 
his manifold troubles, and at the thought of his suffering 
when he witnessed, as a captive, Nina’s death, Margaret 
felt that she was in the presence of one who had known 
even greater grief than her own. This was good for her. 
After a while she was able to speak to Jack about Geof- 
frey, and this brought them more and more together. 

When he got well, his breach of duty in going away 
without notice was overlooked, and he was taken back to 
his old post. There he worked on as the years rolled 
by. Country managerships were offered to him, and de- 
clined. He had nothing to make money for, and the 
only thing he really enjoyed was Margaret’s society, in 
which he would talk about Nina and Geoffrey without 
restraint. For many years he remained ignorant that his 
marriage with Nina was, after all, for New York State a 
valid one, since marriage by simple contract, without re- 
ligious ceremony, is sufficient in that State. He never 
dreamed Geoffrey had been indirectly the cause of his 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


37 


life’s ruin, and always spoke of him as a man almost 
without blame. However unreasonable, there are, among 
all the faulty emotions, few more beautiful than a man’s 
affection for a man. When it exists, it is the least exact- 
ing attachment of his life. 

Margaret listened to his superlatives about Geoffrey. 
She listened ; but as the years passed on she grew wiser. 
When walking in the open fields, or perhaps beside the 
wide lake, an image would come to her in gladsome 
colors, in matchless beauty — a Greek god with floating 
hair and full of resolve and victory, and in her dreams 
she would see and talk with him, and would find him 
grave and thoughtful and tender, and all that a man could 
be. Then would come the rending of the heart. This was 
a thief who had decoyed his friend, and, good or bad, 
was lost to her. 

And thus time passed on. For two or three years she 
went nowhere. She tried going into society, after Geof- 
frey’s sentence, thinking to obtain relief in change of 
thought, but the experiment was a failure. She found that 
she had not the elasticity of temperament which can doff 
care and don gayety as society demands. So she gave up 
the attempt for years, and then went again only at her 
mother’s solicitation. She said she had her patients at the 
hospital, her studies with her father, her many books to 
read, her long walks with Jack and Maurice Rankin, and 
what more did she want ? 

She did not hear of Geoffrey. The six years of his 
imprisonment had dragged themselves into the past, and 
she supposed he was free again, if he had not died in the 
penitentiary. But nothing was heard of him, and thus 
the time rolled on, while Margaret’s mother secretly wept 
to see her daughter’s early bloom departing, while no hope 
of any happy married life seemed possible to her. 

Grave, pleasant, studious, thoughtful, as the years rolled 


372 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


by, she went on with her hospital work. From the depths 
of the grief into which she was plunged, she could discern 
some truths that might have remained unknown if her life 
had continued sunny — just as at noonday from the bottom 
of a deep pit or well the stars above us can be seen. To 
her the bitterness of her life was medicinal. Speaking 
chemically, it was like the acid of the unripe apple acting 
upon the starch in it to make a sugar — thus to perfect a 
sweet maturity. She was one of the richly endowed wom- 
en in whom sensitiveness and strength combine peculiarly 
for either superlative joy or sorrow, and hers was a grief 
which, for her, nothing but tending the bed of sickness 
seemed to mitigate. Many a bruised heart was healed, 
gladdened, and bewitched by the angel smile on the sweet 
firm, full lips which could quiver with compassion. There 
are some smiles, given for others, when grief has made 
thought for self unbearable, which nothing but a descent 
into hell and glorious rising again could produce. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

This is peace I 

To conquer love of self and lust of life, * 

To tear deep-rooted passion from the breast, 

To still the inward strife ; 

For glory, to be lord of self ; . . . 

... For countless wealth, 

To lay up lasting treasure 

Of perfect service rendered, duties done 

In charity, soft speech, and stainless days ; 

These riches shall not fade away in life 
Nor any death dispraise. 

{Buddha's Sermon. — The Light of Asia.) Arnold. 

Geoffrey Hampstead had come out of the peniten- 
tiary with his former hopes for life shattered. Margaret was 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


373 


lost to him. He came out without a tie on earth — a living 
man from whom all previous reasons for existence seemed 
to have been removed. For six years he had worked in 
the penitentiary with all the energy that was in him, in 
order to keep his thoughts from driving him mad. At one 
time all had been before him. And now — Oh, the silent 
grinding of the teeth during the first two years of it! 
After that he grew quieter and became able to regard his 
life calmly. He learned how to suffer. To a large extent 
he ceased now to think about himself. In the lowest 
depths of mental misery self died. Then, for the first 
time in his life, he was able to realize the extent of his 
wrongs to others. What now broke him down gradually 
was not, as at first, the bitterness of his own lost hopes, but 
the thought that the life of Margaret was wrecked — and 
by him, that the lives of others had been wrecked — and by 
him. This was what the penitentiary now consisted of. 
This was the penitentiary which would last for always. 

When the period of his sentence had expired, he had 
gone to New York and obtained work with his old employ- 
ers on Wall Street. But his mind was not in his occupa- 
tion. With his energy, it was impossible to live with no 
definite end in view. Why plod along on microscopic 
savings, like a mere machine to be fed and to work? 
When menfal anguish, for him the worst whip of retribu- 
tion, had made thought for self so unbearable that at last 
it died, there arose in him, untarnished by selfishness, the 
nobility which had always been occultly stamped upon 
him, and which in prison enabled him to protect himself, 
as it were, against madness, and to refuse to be unable to 
suffer— a nobility able to realize the perfection of a life 
lived for others, which none can realize until first thought 
for self has been in some way killed. Rightly or wrongly, 
he had become convinced in years of anguished thought 
that with a continually aching heart may coexist an in- 


374 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


ternal gladness that arises from the gift of self to others 
and makes the suffering not only bearable but even desira- 
ble — that this was altogether a mental phenomenon, such 
as memory, but one on which religions had been built, 
and that it was capable of making a heaven of earth and 
leading one, with the ecstasy of self-gift, even to cruci- 
fixion. 

He determined to go to Paris to study medicine. For 
this, money was required, and he conceived a plan for 
making a small fortune suddenly. If he failed, what 
then 1 The world would lose a helper. His employers, on 
being approached, saw that if proper contracts were made 
they were sure to get their money back, and supplied him 
with all he required for expenses. 

Mr. Rankin, of the firm of Godlie, Dertewercke, Toy- 
lor, and Rankin, had, for more than six years, shared with 
Jack Cresswell the old rooms vice Hampstead, on active 
service.” All Geoffrey’s old relics had been left untouched. 
He had sent word to have them sold, and Rankin, to sat- 
isfy him, had let him think they were sold and that the 
money they brought had been applied as directed. The 
money had been applied as directed, but it had come 
out of Rankin’s little bank account, and so, until the time 
came when they could be handed over to Hampstead, 
the old trophies remained where they were after being in- 
sured for a sum which, for “ old truck and rubbage only 
fit for a second-’and shop,” seemed, to Mrs. Priest, sus- 
piciously large. 

Rankin had received from a client the disposal of sev- 
eral passes on a special train that was to take some rail- 
way officials and their families to Niagara Falls to see the 
great swimmer, John Jackson, together with his dog, en- 
deavor to swim the Whirlpool Rapids. Half the world 
was excited over this event, which had been advertised 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


375 


everywhere. While dining with Jack at the Mackintoshes 
on the Sunday previous to the event, Rankin proposed 
that Margaret should accompany Jack and him to see the 
trial made. 

Margaret hesitated, but Rankin said : “ Oh, you know, 
as far as the fellow himself is concerned, it will be hard 
to say how he is as he goes past. You’ll just see a head 
in the water for a moment, and then it will have vanished 
down the river.” 

“ I don’t suppose there will be much to see if the 
water takes him past at the rate of nineteen miles an 
hour,” said Margaret. 

“Just so. There won’t be much to see. But we can 
have a pleasant day at the falls and give the abused hack- 
men a chance. The ‘ special ’ will have a number of ladies 
on board, and, if you like champagne, now’s your chance. 
What is a special train without champagne ? ” 

“ We^l, what do you say, mother.^ ” asked Margaret. 

Mrs. Mackintosh, to give her daughter an acceptable 
change and to get her out of her fixed ways, would have 
sent her to almost anything from balloon ascension to a 
church lottery. 

“ Do as you wish, my dear. I think I would like you 
to go. I do not see how it would be possible for a spec- 
tator to know whether the man was suffering or not in 
those waters, and, as for his sacrificing his life, why that is 
his own lookout. If he lives I suppose he will get well 
paid, will he not, Mr. Rankin ? ” 

“ They expect he will make about twenty-five or thirty 
thousand dollars. Arrangements have been made not 
only with the railways, but also with the hotels for his 
commission on all profits, which will be paid to him if he 
lives, or, if not, to his family. I don’t know that it should 
be necessarily looked upon as a suicidal speculation. I 
have examined the water a good many times, and am by 


376 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


no means certain that his safe passage is impossible, if he 
can keep on the surface and not get dragged under where 
the water seems to shoot downward. If he gets through, 
or even if he tries it and fails, he will prove himself as 
brave a man as ever lived.” 

“ I think I will go,” said Margaret, brightening up with 
her old love for daring. “ It is not like going to a bull- 
fight, and the excitement will be intense.” 

So they went off on the special, and when they arrived 
at the rapids, after descending the precipice in the hy- 
draulic lift, they went along the path to the platform 
where the photographs are taken. This place was filled 
with seats, numbered and reserved, and Rankin’s party 
were seated in the front row. No less than a hundred 
thousand people were watching the forces of the river at 
this time. They were noticing how the precipices gradu- 
ally converged as they approached the rapids, and how ap- 
parent was the downward slope of the water as it rushed 
through the narrowed gorge. They were noticing how the 
descending current struck projections of fallen rock at the 
sides, causing back-waves to wash from each bank diag- 
onally across the main volume of the river, and make a 
continual combat of waters in the middle of the stream. 
Here, the deep, irresistible flow of the main current charges 
into the midst of the battle raging between the lateral 
surges, and carries them off bodily, while they continue 
to fight and tear at each other as far as one can see down 
the river. It is a bewildering spectacle of immeasurable 
forces, giving the idea of thousands of white horses driven 
madly into a narrowing gorge, where, in the crush, hun- 
dreds are forced upward and ride along on the backs of 
the others, plunging and flinging their white crests high 
in the air and gnashing at each other as they go. 

The worst spot of all is directly in front of the plat- 
form, where Rankin’s party was sitting. They waited un- 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


377 


til the time at which Jackson was advertised to begin 
his swim, and then they grew impatient. Jack was stand- 
ing on a wooden parapet near at hand waiting until the 
swimmer should appear around the bend far up the river, 
for they could not see him take to the water from the 
place where they were. 

All at once, before the rest of the people near him 
could see anything. Jack called out: “There he is!” as 
he descried, with his sailor’s eyes, two black specks on the 
water far away, up above the bridges. 

Jackson and his dog had jumped out of a boat in the 
middle of the river, in the calm part half a mile up, and, 
as they swam down with the current under the bridges, 
the dense mass of people there admired the easy grace 
with which he swam, and remarked the whiteness of his 
skin. His dog, a huge creature, haif Great Dane and 
half Newfoundland, swam in front of him, directed by his 
voice. Both of them could be seen to raise themselves 
once or twice, so that they could get a better view of the 
wild water in front of them. The dog recognized the 
danger, and for a moment turned toward the shore and 
barked ; but his master raised his hand and directed him 
onward. Another moment, now, and the fight for life be- 
gan, for reaching the shore was as impossible as flying to 
the moon. 

The first back-wash that came to them was a small 
one, and they both passed through it, each receiving the 
water in the face. The next wash followed almost imme- 
diately, and they tried to swim over it, but it turned both 
man and dog over on their sides and spread them out at 
full length on the surface of the main current. The 
people on the suspension bridge could see that both 
received a terrible blow. They both seemed to dive 
under the next wave, and then the water became so 
turbulent and the speed of their passage so great that 


378 


GEOFFREY HAMPSTEAD. 


it was impossible to give a minute description of what 
happened. 

Rankin’s party and the multitude of spectators now 
watched what they could see in breathless silence. At 
times, as the swimmers approached, our party could see 
them hoisted in the air on the top of a wave, or ridge or 
upheaval of water. Most of the time they were lost to 
sight in the gulleys or valleys, or else they were beneath 
the surface. It does not take long to go a few hundred 
yards at nineteen miles an hour, and in what scarcely 
seemed more than an instant the man, with the dog still 
in front of him, had come near them. What Jack noticed 
was that as the man here shook the water out of his eyes 
and raised himself, shoulders out, by ‘‘treading water,” 
his skin was almost scarlet. This alone told a tale of what 
he had gone through since the people on the bridges had 
remarked the whiteness of his skin. 

He was now almost opposite them, and his face, set 
desperately, turned, during an instant in a quieter spot, 
toward the platform. Margaret gave a piercing shriek, 
and fell back into Rankin’s arms. At the next half-mo- 
ment a huge boiling mountain, foaming up against the cur- 
rent in which the swimmer’s body floated, struck him a 
terrible blow, and threw the dog back on top of him. Both 
were engulfed. After a while the dog’s head appeared 
again, but Geoffrey Hampstead was overwhelmed in the 
Bedlam of waters, whose foaming, raging madness bat- 
tered out his life. 


THE END. 


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plored falls in the center of the continent, which, though meriting the title of “Niagara 
of South America,” are all but unknown to the outside world; he spent months in the 
picturesque capital of Rio Janeiro; he visited the coffee districts, studied the slaves, 
descended the gold-mines, viewed the greatest rapids of the globe, entered the isolated 
Guianas, and so on. 



RAZIL : Its Condition and Prospects. 

Andrews, ex-Consul-General to Brazil. i2mo. 


By C. C. 

Cloth, $1.50. 


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Government, during which period I made a few journeys into the interior.” — Fro 7 n 
the Preface. 


F 


IVE THOUSAND MILES IN A SLEDGE: A 
Mid -Winter f our ney across Siberia. By Lionel F. Gowing. 
With Map and 30 Illustrations in Text. i2mo. Cloth, $1.50. 


“The book is most certainly one to be read, and will be welcomed as an addition to 
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C HINA : Travels and Investigations in the “ Middle 
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With a Glance at Japan. By James Harrison Wilson, late 
Major-General United States Volunteers and Brevet Major- 
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“The book presents China and Japan in all these aspects ; the manners and cus- 
toms of the people ; the institutions, tendencies, and social ideas ; the government and 
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New York : D. APPLETON & CO., i, 3, & 5 Bond Street. 


An Unconventional Travel-Book 


A SOCIAL DEPARTURE : 

How Orthodocia and I went Round the World 

by Ourselves. 

By SARA JEANNETTE DUNCAN. 

With 112 Illustrations. 12mo, cloth. Price, |?1.75. 

The NEW YORK HERALD says; 

“This is one of the biightest stories of travel that ever eante from a 
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The JOURNAL OF OOM MERGE says ; 

“‘A Social Departure,’ published by the Appletcns, is a l»ook to be read 
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The BOSTON JOURNAL says: 

“ It is not altogether an unheard-of event for young ladies to travel 
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nette Duncan, is still uncommon enough to have the element of novelty, 
and its piquant brightness adds to this effect.” 

The DETROIT FREE PRESS says : 

“ One of the most chaiming books of travel of the year. ... It tells 
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humor.’’ 

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parture ’ must have a blunted appreciation of fun and pluck. There is not 
a dull page in it. . . . The story is told with wonderful dash and clever- 
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New' York : I). APPLETON & CO.. Publishers. 1. & .5 Bond Sf. 


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